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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 






























No. 6. 


PRICE, TEN CENTS, 

Ilbe HMe Ibour Series. 

published Srtini-We<i)cly. Hy Subscription, per Year, Ten Dollars. . March 12, 1892. 

liulered at the New York Post-Office as second-class matter. 



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BY 


KYLE DALLAS. 


MARY 








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THE COBAN HEIRESS. 


A NOVEL. 


By MARY KYRE DALLAS, 


Atii/ior of ** Grace Garrick f “ IVmifredf The Grinder 
Papers f Etc, 


- ‘ V:, 

• J'VV? X 


New York: 

THE F. M. LUPTON PUBLISHING COMPANY, 
No. 65 Duane Street. 


COPYRIGHT, 1892, By 

THE F. M. LUPTON PUBLISHING COMPANY, 


THE CUBAN HEIRESS 


THE WOMAN BY THE WATER-SIDE. 

It was a chill December night, past twelve, for the 
church clock, high up in the tapering steeple, now veiled 
by cloud and mist from human sight, had just dropped 
down into the darkness a dozen such hoarse, discordant 
strokes, that a listener might have imagined that it had 
taken cold, and was complaining of the damp and dark- 
ness. 

Along the scattered village streets but few lights gleamed, 
and those few, shining from upper chamber windows, told 
of watchers by sick beds, or of mothers waking with un- 
quiet children, and in one case, where a long, black 
streamer floated from the door, of that last sad vigil love 
keeps above the casket whence its jewel has fled. 

For social gathering or public entertainment not one 
lamp burnt, for Carltonville was a quiet, old-fashioned 
place, with few charms for gay people; and even the quaint, 
red-roofed tavern, by name ‘‘The Golden Dove,” was 
closed at nine ; so that not a matron in the village knew 
the joy of sitting up until the wee sma’ hours, listening at 
the key-hole, flattening her Grecian nose against the win- 
dow-pane, and finally falling into a doze, to start awake in 
paroxysms of terror, and declare, with clasped hands and 
tearful eyes, that at last, at last, at last, Mr. Smith had been 
garroted ! 

In all Carltonville there seemed to be but one person 
abroad — a stout man, in a many-caped overcoat, who, with 
a lantern in his hand, patrolled the streets, uttering as he 
passed, a long-drawn, dismal cry : 

“Past twe-e-lve o'clock. Pa-a-st twe-e-elve o*-o*-o*clock.” 

“ It’s a miserable night,” muttered this man to himself, 

(3) 


4 


THE CUBAN HEIRESS. 


as he changed his lantern to the other hand, and shivered 
under the touch of a blast of wind, which seemed keener 
than its predecessors, ‘‘a miserable night. It does seem 
hard that every living soul but me should be snug a-bed. 
And what’s the use of this, I wonder? Housebreakers 
know which side their bread is buttered too well to choose 
such a night, and nobody is out to be murdei^d but me. 
Darned if I’ll not get out of this cold somehow if I lose 
my place for it.” 

Casting his eyes around, they lighted upon the project- 
ing porch of a church, and toward this he turned his steps, 
and in a few moments was safely ensconced under the 
shelter. The upper step or sill formed a comfortable seat, 
and by comparison the place was warm. The watchman 
plunged his hands deep into his pockets, tucked his feet 
under him, and nodding complacently, said : 

This is better, I reckon.” 

Better it decidedly was, and in a few moments the watch- 
man’s eyes closed, his head dropped upon his shoulders, 
and he was sound asleep and snoring. 

His slumbers were deep at first, and for two hours his 
shrill cry failed to follow the chime of the church clock. 

Many a sleeper, pillowed upon down, rested less quietly 
than the old watchman on the hard church porch. At last, 
however, odd dreams began to trouble his repose. He 
fancied himself in the kitchen of ^‘The Golden Dove,” 
where the maid, Polly, in a terrible temper, was hard at 
work at the churn — plash, plash, plash ! The butter 
wouldn’t come — Polly said it was bewitched, and churned 
faster than ever. All in vain, as it seemed ; and, at last, 
in desperation, the churner lifted the churn in both hands, 
and dashed the contents out upon the floor, drenching him 
from head to foot ! 

The douche ended his dream, and the watchman started 
to his feet broad awake. Wet he was, indeed, for the 
wind had changed, and a torrent of sleet was driving into 
the church porch, but it was strange that he could hear the 
plash, plash of the churn-dasher yet. It was no delusion; 
something not far off really made the sound ; and an in- 
stant’s reflection told him that something must be tread of 
feet upon the sodden snow. 


THE CUBAN HEIRESS, 


5 


Who was abroad that bitter night ? 

Peering through the darkness, the watchman could just 
discern a slender figure, toiling painfully against the wind 
and sleet, with some light burden in its arms — a female 
figure, willowy and frail, hooded and shawled closely. 

The watchman’s blood ran cold. There was a tradition 
in Carltonville of a certain ghostly lady, who having loved 
well if not wisely, and having been deceived and hardly 
used on earth, chose to return thereunto now that she was 
dead, instead of lying comfortably in the churchyard, and 
was at odd times to be met, with a baby she had murdered 
and buried, folded to her breast. Rumor also said that, at 
such times, she rapped three on the tombstone of her de- 
ceiver, who lay beneath a lofty slab, which gave him credit 
for all the cardinal virtues, and that at the summons, he, 
despite the splendid obsequies which had taken place in his 
honor, was obliged to arise, however cold the night, and 
walk with her until cock-crow. 

The watchman knew this story by heart, and he shivered 
as he gazed upon the advancing form. 

It’s no ghost,” he said in a moment, plucking up cour- 
age. Ghosts never make no noise. This is a living 
woman, though what she wants out to-night, and seem- 
ingly with a child along with her, is more than I can tell. 
Anyhow I ain’t afraid of her — why should I be?” 

Rising to his feet, the watchman left his shelter, less 
loth to do so that it had become no shelter at all in the 
rapid changing of the wind, and holding his lantern low 
to mark the path, followed the willowy figure as it toiled 
on through the dark, stormy night. Along the scattered 
row of pretty cottages, known as Main street, the splash- 
ing feet went, .never hesitating, but seeming to have some 
fixed destination, and at last upon the broad corner, formed 
by Squire Shelbourne’s mansion and great garden, turned 
eastward into what would some day l3e known as Water 
street. As yet it was merely an imaginary street — the sign- 
board at the corner representing what would be, not what 
was. A green lane, ruhning riverward with two shanties — 
the schoolhouse, and a little edifice owned by a man who 
loaned boats to those who wished them, or, for a consid- 
eration, rowed parties up and down, or across the river, 


6 


THE CUBAN HEIRESS. 


being the sum total of the buildings of which it boasted 
in those days. Down Water street — then faster than be- 
fore went the small, plashing feet, and the heart of the 
old watchman throbbed faster, as he noted the fact that 
they were going riverward. 

God forgive us all ! ” he muttered. This is a wicked 
world and an awful world to live in. What call can a woman 
have to go to the river-side to-night? ” 

The awful truth that she was going there to drown her- 
self was in his mind, but he was too terribly afraid to give 
it utterance, even in a whisper, and to himself. Still he 
clasped stave and lantern together in his left hand, keeping 
the right free to use quickly if needs be, and hastened his 
footsteps to be closer to the now almost flying figure. 

It was high time, for the woman’s feet had touched the 
little wharf where Aaron Hacher’s boats were tied, and she 
stood there in a moment, motionless and upright as a statue. 

There was no doubt of her dreadful purpose now — you 
might read it in the very turn of her hooded head river- 
ward. 

The watchman grew pale and cold, and shuddered from 
head to foot, and one old hand in its great worsted mitten 
was outstretched, almost touching her, but not quite. 

The woman did not and had not heard him. She 
thought herself alone, and began to mutter in a strange, 
wild voice : 

I can’t see them, but I know they are there — fiends, 
with their long talons, stretched to clasp me when I 
come amongst them ! They are beckoning me now ! 
They are glad to have me ! Glad ! glad ! glad ! Will 
he weep, I wonder ? He used to love me once. Ha ! 
ha ! ha ! It was an odd love — wasn’t it, baby? ” 

She took a step nearer to the water’s edge, — and so did 
the watchman, and the great hand hovered over her like the 
wing of some dark bird. The burden she held was lifted 
close to her lips now, and she was kissing it. 

‘‘Oh, baby, baby ! ” she muttered. “ There are moth- 
ers in all those houses who don’t love their children as I 
love you — I, your bad, mad mother ! Oh, baby, baby ! 
and you’ll never love me, for I can’t meet you in Heaven, 
I’m afraid ! Oh, don’t cry, baby, don’t cry.” 


THE CUBAN HEIRESS. 


7 


For the piteous wail of a youg infant had arisen upon the 
night air, and she was trying to smother the sound in her 
bosom under the rough shawl she wore. 

Hush, my love. They’d bring us back to this wicked 
world if they heard you ! They don’t want us to go free. 
But this is no place for us now he hates us. Is it, my dove ? 
Oh, no, no, no ! ” 

Then, as though her mind had changed, the poor creat- 
ure sank down upon her knees on the dock, and began to 
pray — an incoherent prayer for pardon, for mercy, for 
pity. 

In its midst she started to her feet. 

‘‘ I cannot pray ! ” she cried ; God does not hear me, 
and angels have deserted me ! ” and in another moment she 
stood on the very verge of the old wharf, ready for the fatal 
leap. But just then the hovering hand descended, clasping 
her frail arm in a vise-like grip, and a voice cried into he 
ears : 

Do you expect God to listen to a murderess? Yf 
woman, whoever you are, it’s plain you’ve lost 
senses.” ^ 

Powerless to shake off the grasp of the old man’s hand, 
the woman turned and looked at him. He could see the 
glitter of a pair of large black eyes, that was all. Her 
other features were quite hidden from his view by the 
great hood she wore. Thus for a moment they stood, both 
quite, quiet. The watchman would have given much to 
know whose arm it was he held crushed in his great hand. 

“ I don’t know who you may be,” he said, but I do 
know that you are a woman. More than that, I know 
you’ve got a soul, and if I have the power. I’ll neither see 
a woman drowned, or a soul lost. You’d go straight to the 
place all Christians pray the Lord to keep ’em from ! Don’t 
you know that, young woman? ” 

‘‘No place is worse than this,” said the woman ; “it 
could not be. I want to sleep ; I want to rest ; let me 

go-" 

“ I won’t ! I’d as leave stick a knife into you as do that,” 
said the watchman. “ You’re crazy now. I’m old, but 
strong enough to hold a wee bit of a thing like you. Why, 
what are you thinking of to want to drown that baby, if 


8 


THE CUBAN HEIRESS, 


you don’t care for yourself? I tell you what, young woman, 
I’m going to take you to your friends, and see you safe be- 
fore I leave you ; and mebbe you’ll thank old Davy Drew 
for it in the other world, as well as here. Come, who do 
you belong to ? ” 

have no friends,” she answered, no friends; do 
you hear that ? What difference does it make what be- 
comes of me? Let me alone. If I don’t do it now, I will 
some time; you can’t help that ! ” 

The watchman only held her tighter. 

‘^Suicidal folks is allers crazy; that’s my opinion of 
’em,” he said. Tie ’em up until they get their senses 
back, and I bet you they’ll never try it again. What I’ve 
made up my mind to do is this : take you up to the squire’s, 
and see what he can make of you. He’s justice of the 
peace, and he’ll put a stop to this drowning business, short 
meter; come, now ! ” 

He tried to move on and to draw her with him, but she 
seemed possessed of almost superhuman strength, and re- 
sisted wildly. 

Before you take me anywhere. I’ll kill you ! ” she said. 
I’m only a weak girl, but I think fiends help me when I 
think of that. I’ll bury my teeth in your throat, and tear 
your life out as a wild beast might, before you shall take me 
where any one can see me ! ’ ’ 

The old man glanced at the deserted boat-house and 
along the lonely road. Truth to tell, he feared the woman 
at his side, in this paroxysm of rage, and his voice lowered 
itself to a soothing tone. 

Come, come,” he said, I’ll take youwherever you will 
go. All I want is to keep you from that dreadful sin. Come 
away from the river.” 

I’ll go with you,” she said. Her manner suddenly 
subdued and altered. You know some quiet place where 
I can sleep to-night ? I have money.” 

Yes,” said the watchman; I’ll see to that. You are 
coming to yourself, young woman.” 

He held her arm still, but less tightly, and they turned 
away from the riverside and went up the lane together. At 
last they were fairly in Main street, dark and still, save for 
the driving of the storm. 


THE CUBAN HEIRESS. 


9 


‘^Todget’s tavern is open/’ said the watchman; ‘‘at 
least somebody is ready to answer at any hour of the night. 
I’ll take you there, and tell ’em you’re a young woman 
come by the stage, too late to find her friends. Will that 
suit you? ” 

“Yes,” said the woman dreamily; “anything. You 
hurt my arm.” 

“ Well, I’ll let go of it, then,” said the man ; “I ain’t 
afraid of losing you now.” 

Then they plodded on together for some moments. At 
last she said : 

“ I am so tired. You’ve been very good to me, so far; 
will you take my baby and carry it a little way ? ’ ’ 

“ Surely,” said the watchman ; “ you’re but a small, del- 
icate critter to be out on such a night as this. Give me 
the baby.” 

Before the trembling creature by his side obeyed him, 
however, she pressed a dozen warm kisses on the face of the 
child, and burst into tears. 

“ Oh, how could I? How could I ? ” she sobbed. “ Oh ! 
cruel, cruel mother, that lam!” 

“ I should think so,” said the watchman. “ I suppose 
yourn is the old story, and it’s shame that there should be 
such a story to be told ; but remember there’s a God in 
Heaven yet; and you ain’t fit to meet His face in such a 
hurry. Death ain’t lying asleep comfortable in your grave ; 
only your bones is there, and there ain’t one of us can tell 
what there’ll be for our souls to do. Suicide won’t help 
you, young woman.” 

She made no answer, and with her little burden in his 
arms he plodded on, making sure that the woman followed 
him — for he had never known one before who would not fol- 
low a being who held her baby in her arms, to the world’s 
end. Turning at last, however, to speak to her and say 
that yonder was the tavern, the watchman found himself 
alone. 

Softly and fleetly the woman had slipped away from his 
side, and though he fancied that far away he heard the 
plashing tread of hasty feet on the muddy snow, he could 
not feel quite certain that it was not imagination. 

The woman might be hiding close at hand, or she might 


lO 


THE CUBAN HEIRESS. 


have sought the river again. This seemed probable, and 
back on his dreary path the watchman hastened. All in 
vain. The boat-house and the empty wharf, alone met his 
view ; and, truth to tell, his progress, impeded by the add- 
ed weight of the child, had been but slow, so that if bent 
upon suicide, the woman would have had ample time to ac- 
complish her object. 

^‘It’s no use,” the watchman said, disconsolately. 

What a fool I’ve been, surely ! All I can do now is to 
take the baby to the squire’s, and he’ll send it to the alms- 
house, I suppose. God help it ! ” 

And toward the squire’s great house the old watchman 
bent his steps. 


CHAPTER II. 

WHAT HAPPENED AT THE SQUIRE’s 

Apparently Davy Drew knew the way of the squire’s 
household well, for without hesitation he passed around the 
front of the dwelling, and whistling to the great watch dog, 
who came from his kennel at the sound of his footsteps, 
rapped at a low door which opened into the garden, and 
was furnished with a heavy knocker in the shape of an iron 
claw. 

Waiting a moment or two, he heard the token of some 
one’s approach, and soon a tremulous voice called through 
the key- hole : 

Who’s that?” 

^Ht’s Davy Drew,” replied the watchman ; and if that 
ain’t Hepsibah, I’m mistaken.” 

There came no answer to this ; but in a minute the door 
was opened, and he stood face to face with a woman whose 
strange likeness to himself betokened near relationship. 
There was the same eccentric nose, the same light blue eyes, 
the same long, prominent upper lip, and the same low, 
deeply marked forehead. But, while the watchman was as 
rosy as a pippin, this woman was, at that moment at least, 
pallid to the very lips. 


THE CUBAN HEIRESS. 


II 


^^Why, Hepsibah, what ails you, woman?’* said the 
watchman, as his eyes rested on the face illuminated by the 
rays of the lamp she bore. ^‘You look as though you’d 
seen a ghost ! ” 

‘‘You don’t expect anybody to look merry in this house 
to-night, do you?” asked Hepsibah. 

“To-night! Why, what’s the matter?” The watch- 
man lowered his voice, and glanced up the stairs and down 
the dark passage, as though expecting to see something 
which might answer his question, and then back again to 
the woman waiting to speak. 

She made an effort to answer, groped blindly with her 
hands, as one does when struggling against a swoon, and 
then clutched his arm with a grip that made him wince, 
and all the while no audible sound reached him, though her 
lips moved. 

“ Hepsibah ! woman 1 ” said the watchman, in a horri- 
fied, husky whisper, “are you a goin’ mad? Tell me, 
what is the matter ? ” 

Then she found voice, such a one as we might expect a 
ghost to speak in. 

“ I’ll tell you, Davy,” she said ; “ come up-stairs with 
me. Don’t make a noise. They’re too busy to care much 
who comes in or out. Keep quiet, for my sake,” and turn- 
ing, she ascended the stairs, and opening a door, led the 
way into a room curtained and carpeted, and cheerful with 
fire and candle light. 

There she locked the door, and crouched down before 
the grate, with her back to the old watchman. 

“ She’s very bad. Brother Dave,” she said ; “ quite low. 
The surgeon is with her now. There’s just the faintest 
chance for her now.” 

“ The squire’s wife, you mean ? ” asked old Davy. 

“ Who else should I? That’s no one coming, is it? ” 

“ No. Sally, what ails you?” 

“ I’m going mad, Davy.” 

“ You’ve seen a many die dearer to you, and never went 
mad through it. The fiend’s abroad to-night, and after all 
the women.” 

“ He’ll have me soon,” said the woman. 

“ Oh, Davy 1 you’re my brother ; you’re all I’ve got in 


12 


THE CUBAN HEIRESS. 


the wide world. We’re two old people together. Can’t 
you help me somehow ? ’ ’ 

Help you ! ” cried the watchman. Fd do all I could 
to help you if I knew what ailed you. Come, tell me, or 
I’ll believe you crazy in earnest. Tell me, Hepsibah.” 

The woman arose and went toward the bed, turning down 
the sheet, so that the light fell full upon the form of a little 
infant, lying there in its embroidered robes. 

It’s the squire’s baby,” she said. 

Ay,” said the watchman ; and a purty little critter, 
too. How still it sleeps.” 

It sleeps so sound that it will never wake again until 
the judgment day,” said the woman. Oh, Davy, Brother 
Davy ! it’s dead, stone dead — and I’ve killed it ! I, miser- 
able wretch, I have killed it ! ” 

Killed it ! ” the watchman repeated the words dream- 
ily, as though not comprehending them. Killed it ! 
What does it mean, Hepsibah?” 

^‘What I say,” replied the woman. Oh, Davy, I 
loved it so, and I loved her so, yet I’ve killed it ! This is 
how it was : Missus, from the time she began to make the 
little dresses for that darling, used to complain of a pain in 
her chest ; and lately, since the child came, it has been a 
deal worse so a great doctor from New York came down, 
and he and more of ’em have decided that there was a can- 
cer, or a tumor, or something, which must be cut out, or 
she’d die. They put it off as long as they could, but yes- 
terday they said it must be done ; and master said to me, 
^ Hepsibah, there’ll be plenty to take care of her ; you only 
see to the baby and keep it from her. ’ I was glad to do it, 
Dave, for I was too nervous to bear to see them torturing 
my dear missus, poor lamb ; so I shut myself up with baby 
here, where I couldn’t hear her scream. I don’t know what 
it was — nervousness, may be; but I hadn’t been here three 
hours before I took the toothache, and most went mad with 
it. Cook came in, and says she, ‘ I tell you, laudanum in 
the ear is the best thing for it, and I’ve got some,’ and up 
she went and brought down a bottle, and gave it to me. I 
put it on the shelf when I’d used it, meaning to give it back 
when she came in again. Poor baby never was so cross ; it 
cried all the time — milk did it no good, nor anything else ; 


THE CUBAN HEIRESS. 


13 


and, at last, master came to the door, and says he, ‘ Hepsi- 
bah, keep the child quiet. She’ll hear it, and worry.’ It’s 
against my rules to do it often, but being such a case, I 
thought I’d give the dear some drops, and so I did. That 
was at eight in the evening. He went to sleep like a lamb, 
and I went to sleep, too ; but, oh, David, half an hour ago 
I waked up and looked at him. He was as cold as a piece 
of ice ! I got frightened, and tried to wake him ; it was 
no use. In three minutes I knew the child was dead, and 
how it happened, for the bottle of drops stood there full, 
and the laudanum bottle was almost empty. I’ve poisoned 
my darling lady’s child, Davy ; and if there’d been enough 
left I’d done the same to myself. Oh, what’s that ? what’s 
that?” 

In pressing against the bundle in his arms as he leant 
over the bed, Davy Drew aroused the child, and it began 
to cry. 

It’s the child, Hepsibah,” said the watchman. That 
was what brought me here. The devil has been abroad to 
catch the women-folks this wretched night, I do believe. 
You won’t care about hearing my story now, you feel so 
bad, Hepsy.” 

‘‘Yes, I will ! ” cried the woman. “ Speak ! you don’t 
know what may come of it.’l 

She had taken the infant from the watchman’s arms as 
she spoke, and was soothing it to silence, and in much the 
sort of terror one might feel in an awful dream. 

Davy Drew told his story to his sister. She was too much 
astonished already to feel any more surprise. 

When the tale ended, she dropped upon her knees before 
him, clasping her hands, and praying him to save her, as 
he could, from disgrace and misery. 

“ What can I do, Hepsibah? ” he said. “ Tain’t in me 
to bring the dead to life, or I would, I’m sure. That’s all 
’ud help you now.” 

“ All 1 ” cried Hepsibah, with a strange laugh. “ Don’t 
you see, Dave ? There’s a way to keep me from being dis- 
graced — punished, maybe ! There’s a way to keep in the 
house, instead of being turned out like a dog ; and who’d 
have me afterward, I’d like to know, in their nurseries ? 
Poisoned a baby — Squire Shelbourne’s baby — they’d say ; 


14 


THE CUBAN HEIRESS. 


and I might starve afore they’d have me ! Who’d blame 
’em? Oh, Dave, promise me ye’ll do it afore I tell ye 
how.” 

She’s crazy ! ” mumbled Davy. Why, old gal, I’d 
be willing to cut my right hand off if ’twould get ye out of 
this scrape ! ” 

Give me the baby, then,” said the woman. 

The baby ? ” David only stared. 

‘^Look ye, Davy Drew,” said his sister, ^^they are as 
like as two peas. This one has black eyes, so has that. 
They’re the same size ; likely the same age. Who’d know 
them, if I changed their clothes? Not you.” 

‘‘You’re right there, Hepsy,” said the watchman. 

“ Nor the squire nor my lady,” said Hepsibah. “ D’ye 
understand me now, Davy ? Speak, man ! ” 

“I do begin to,” muttered the watchman. “But it 
can’t be done. I’ve tried to live a Christian life. You’d 
not ask it if ye think a minute — you’re crazy like now ! ” 

“ What harm would it be, Dave ? ” said the woman. 

“Great harm,” said the watchman. “ There’s squire, 
he’d be deceived, and the missus, too; and think of the 
lies I’d have to tell, and you, too ! ” 

“ We would neither of us have to speak a word, good or 
bad,” said the woman. 

“ We should tell no lies? ” 

“Not one, Davy; they’d ask no questions; and, as for 
you, who^s to tell ? You met the woman in the dark of the 
night ; and she, poor soul, is under the water by this time. 
Let me have that baby, and I’ll dress this in its clothes, 
and you may lay it at any door in the place, and it will 
find a grave. That’s all it’s own father could give it ; and 
you’ll save that one from the poor-house. You’ll do good, 
and no harm, Davy.” 

“It’s a wrong act,” said the watchman. “ I’ll have 
nought to do with it.” 

“ Then take a knife and kill me, Davy. You might as 
well.” 

“ Oh, Hepsy, Hepsy ! ” 

“You might, Davy. Mother never thought you’d turn 
your back on me when trouble came. When she was dying 
we stood beside her, and says she, ‘Be good to Sister 


THE CUBAN HEIRESS. 


IS 


Hepsy, you’re all she has to look to.’ And says you, 
‘ When I forsake her, may Heaven forsake me ! ’ I mind 
it well.” 

‘‘Haven’t I been a brother to you, girl?” said the old 
man, his eyes filling with tears. “ I’ve tried to be.” 

“ I know you have till now, Davy,” said the old woman. 
“ I don’t deny it ; but you don’t care for me now, or you’d 
save me. It’s only whether yonder poor baby shall lie in 
Shelbourne vault or in a little grave, without a stone, 
amongst the poor. That will do it no harm, Davy. The 
same sod will be above it, and its soul is in Heaven already. 
Oh, Davy, have pity on me ! ” 

She went down on her knees again as she spoke, and 
clung to him desperately. “ I couldn’t bear that shame,” 
she said. “ The whole place to know it — mistress that has 
thought so much of me, and all ! I shall die ! Oh, Davy, 
I willy if the disgrace comes to me ! Save me ! save me 1 ” 

The old man was crying like a baby by this time. Tears 
chased each other down the deep wrinkled grooves plowed 
in his brown cheeks by the hand of time. All he could 
say was: “Hepsy, girl ! oh, Hepsy, girl! ” over and over 
again. 

“ Davy, say yes 1 ” pleaded the woman. 

“No, no!” replied the watchman. “No; you’ll not 
ask me to-morrow yourself — you’re about crazy now ! ” 

At these words the old woman arose slowly, and looked 
at her brother with eyes full of terrible meaning. 

“I’ll ask you no more,” she said; “but, mark you. I’ll 
never see the light of black to-morrow ! I’ll kill myself 
to-night ! Davy, I’ve the means in my power, and I’ll use 
them. I’ll never live to be disgraced, and dragged before 
a court of justice, and hanged, maybe ! No, I’ll kill my- 
self to-night ! ” 

The old watchman saw that she was in earnest, and her 
last words had brought an awful picture before his mind. 
He dropped his head upon his hands, and said no more ; 
and old Hepsibah knew that she had gained her object ! 

She lifted the dead child in her arms, and handed it to 
her brother. 

“Changing its clothes would do no good,” she said. 
“All babies’ night-slips are about alike, and its things are 


i6 


THE CUBAN HEIRESS. 


not marked. I’ve taken no pains dressing it in fine robes, 
while no one but me was to see it ; and I can’t bear to see 
the little creature as I’ve often bathed and fixed so pretty. 
Oh, Dave ! I loved the darling so, as I might a grandchild 
of my own, if I’d a had one. What shall I do? My 
heart’ll break ! Only to think on it lying in its little grave, 
without a flower or a stone ! ” and she began to weep. 

Don’t do it, Hepsibah; don’t do it,” said the watch- 
man. ‘‘Come, there’s time yet; and no one will think 
that you’d do harm to the babby o’ purpose. Come, Hep- 
sibah, now ; you’ll be a happier woman for it.” 

But there was no command in his voice, only persuasion, 
and Hepsibah rallied at his words. 

“ No,” she said, wiping her eyes with her apron. “I’ll 
not live to be hooted through the streets, or to be shut up 
in prison, or mayhap hung ! "No, no. God knows it’s not 
my fault. I’d lie dead this minute rather than have that 
dear creature a corpse, a thing I’ve been more a mother to 
than its own. And at the judgment-day He will not write 
me down a murderess ; but people would, wicked sinners 
like myself. Dave, take the little love away, and God bless 
you for lifting part of my burden on your shoulders. I’ll 
pray for you when I’m past words, for that act. Good-by, 
Dave ; good-by, good-by ! ” 

She opened the door, and half led, half pushed the 
watchman into the entry. 

“ I’ll light you down,” she said. “ Come, now, don’t 
linger ; any minute master may come up the stairs. It’s 
done, now, you know. Good-by. Go softly. Dave you’re 
a good brother to me in my trouble.” 

And the bewildered watchman found himself upon the 
road, without the great mansion, with the dead child a cold 
burden in his arms, before he could collect his senses suffi- 
ciently to make any remonstrance. 

“There is a fate in it,” he muttered. “I said as how 
the devil was abroad to catch the women folks ; but I 
reckon he has eye to the men folks, too. Who’d ever have 
thought o’ me. — Honest Dave the watchman, as some calls 
me — turning knave at my time o’ life ! The Lord bless us. 
He knows ’twill be a weight on my soul as long as I live; 
and only for Hepsibah I’d never have done it. But the gal 


THE CUBAN HE /BESS, 


17 

was left to my care when mammy died, and was a pretty 
young critter, then ; and even now we are both old, it 
seems as if she ought to look to me for protection like. 
Lord bless us ! I wish she’d asked me to chop off my right 
hand, or put out my right eye, and I’d a done it willingly 
compared to this. Well, I must go to the poor-house with 
it, I reckon. As well first as last. She don’t repent, I 
s’ pose ; she’d have had time to call me back. I’ve done it, 
and I must abide by it.” So saying, the watchman trotted 
away, folding his coat about the form of the dead infant, 
as though it could feel the piercing blasts or the cold drench- 
ing of the rain, and made his way toward the long gray 
building devoted to charitable purposes, which was the 
pride of Carltonville. 

It was a night to make the pleasantest road wretched, and 
the most cheerful dwelling gloomy in its outward aspect. 
As the road which led to Carltonville poor-house was at any 
time desolate and lonely, an irregular, badly cut affair, full 
of miniature mountains and valleys, broken stones, and 
traps of all kinds for the feet of unwary travelers; so 
hedged in, moreover, by banks of rocks and tangled trees 
and bushes that even summer moonlight could not light it 
up ; and upon such a night as this the watchman’s lantern 
alone prevented him from being lost, or stumbling into some 
deep hole or mud pond. 

As for the poor-house itself, it was a low gray prison-like 
affair, with barred windows, and no vestige of verdure 
about its little yards covered with hard gravel, rolled smooth 
by aged paupers at regular intervals. Perhaps it was to show 
how cold charity could be, that it had been built upon the 
very spot where the keenest winds swept in upon the town 
at winter time. There were public lands in sheltered dells, 
farther from the wild seaside, amid woods, or where bright 
gardens might have cheered the scene ; but this spot had 
seemed to the wise authorities a very God-send for the site 
of an alms-house, and there it was erected. Not even a 
pine-tree flung its shadow over it. 

As the watchman approached the building, his heart sank 
within him, and vague apprehensions wrought upon his 
mind. For the first time in his life he was called upon to 
utter and act a falsehood. That in itself was sufficient to 
2 


i8 


THE CUBAN HEIRESS. 


make him wretched to the last degree. Then, he had a 
reverence for death, which made him feel a sort of horror 
in being the instrument by which the little corpse in his 
arms was deprived of burial in the great family vault in 
which the Shelbournes had lain for three generations. And, 
in his simple mind, thoughts of dread stories told of evil 
spirits which hovered on men's footsteps, and stood before 
them at last, white and horrible, to drive them mad, were 
faintly combatted by the religious feelings he had cherished 
in his humble heart for many years. 

Over the grim, black door of the poor-house an oil lamp 
swung, just showing the iron knocker with a lion’s head 
pendant from the panels. Far up in one of the long and 
narrow windows, a gleam fell upon the uncurtained window- 
pane, to tell that some one was watching, perhaps beside a 
sick bed. All else was dark and quiet as the grave. 

The watchman stood gazing upward, seemingly unable 
to move either backward or forward. A damp moisture 
bathed his brow, and his limbs trembled under him. For 
one moment he gazed sea-ward — with the temptation strong 
upon him to cast the little body thither, and escape the or- 
deal of question and answer which awaited him, but the 
next he asked God to forgive him for the wicked thought. 

I should be worse than I am,” he said. No, I’ll not 
do it ! And I’ll try to keep from lying, if I can, right out 
and out in words; ” and thus speaking, he stepped forward, 
and gave the iron knocker two such raps upon the door as 
brought an answer in the shortest possible space of time. 

Old David blessed his stars that the man with whom he 
had to deal was only an old pauper, trembling with age, 
and half blind to boot, and who was also too much ag- 
grieved by being called from his bed at such an hour to pay 
much heed to the manner of his disturber. 

It’s you, is it?” he muttered. ‘‘I thought as I was 
gettin’ out o’ my warm bed ’twere either a watchman, or a 
doctor from the hangin’ ! As if a body was ready to hop 
out o’ their warm bed like a flea, at a minute’s warning ! 
What’s wantin’ ?” 

‘‘I’ve a babby here,” said the watchman. “ Tell ’em 
that as Davy Drew was walking his beat to-night, he spied 
a woman with a babby, and followed her to the wharf. 


THE CUBAN HEIRESS. 


19 


There she tried to jump in, and he stopped her and coaxed 
her away ; but soon she got him to take the babby, and then 
cut and run/' 

‘‘ Got who? " asked the pauper. 

Me — Davy Drew, the watchman." 

Lor', I know who you be well enough," said the pau- 
per. ‘‘ So this is the babby ? " 

‘^You don’t think it’s another un, do you?" asked 
Davy. 

Lor', no, to be sure," said the pauper, with a giggle, 
which instantly subsided as he muttered, Couldn’t you 
ha' kep’ it somewheres, and not took people out of their 
v;arm beds afore morning? " 

‘‘ You see, I’m a bachelor," said David. If I'd had a 
woman, I might. Good-bye. Shall I be wanted again? ’' 

^‘They’ll send for you if they do," said the pauper. 

But I hope they’ll be reasonable enough not to do it in 
the middle of the night, takin’ you out o' your warm bed ; 
as you don't mind doin to other folks, I do ! " 

And with these words the door was banged to again in 
the watchman's face. 

With that cold burden lifted from his arms, part of the 
weight was taken from old Davy’s heart. Yet it was heavy 
still, and those who met him in the dawn, going homeward, 
shook their heads, and said that such nights as those were 
too much for an old man, and that Davy was breaking 
down fast. 


CHAPTER III. 

ALONE WITH THE SECRET. 

After her brother’s departure, Hepsibah sat beside the 
fire, with the babe upon her knee, staring at the glowing 
coals with all her might, and feeling that she had passed 
safely through a terrible ordeal. 

I shall have a weight upon my mind all my life long," 
she said; and it will be hard to bear, I know. But I 
shan’t be hung, or I shan’t be hooted through the town for 


20 


THE CUBAN HEIRESS. 


a woman that has been to court for murdering a child, 
which would be worse ; and missus will be happy, and 
master and this poor creature, bless it ! — ah ! what’s that ? 
what’s that? Mercy upon us, what’s that? 

She might well ask. Through the house swept a terrible 
sound, that curdled the blood of the listener. Was it that 
of a human voice ? — could it be ? Then a heavy fall shook 
the house, and set the glasses jingling upon a little table in 
the corner ; then feet came flying down the stairs, and the 
nursery door was shaken from without. 

“ Hepsy, Hepsy ! for de love of Heaven open dis door ! 
Oh, Lord ! dis awful night ! Oh, Hepsy ! 

The old woman covered the baby hastily with a quilt as 
she laid it down upon the bed and opened the door. Black 
Deborah, the cook, stood there, her eyes rolling from side 
to side in terror. 

‘‘Oh, Hepsy,” she moaned, “poor young missus stone 
dead, and massa has fell down in a fit alongside of her 
bed ! ” 

“Dead?” said Hepsy. “Oh, no, she^s only fainted ! 
Nobody talked of her being in any danger ! ” 

“ Hepsy, she’s clean dead ; dere ain’t no more life in 
her nor in a stone. Oh, dat lubly, dear pretty lady. Dey 
killed her wid sleepin’ stuff, Hepsy.” 

“ Laudanum? ” gasped Hepsibah. 

“ No, chloroform, dat’s it, Hepsy. Dey had to cut her 
lily-white bosom wid cruel knives, and dey gabe her dat 
stuff so she shouldn’t feel no pain ; an’ she didn’t — she 
won’t never feel no more, Hepsy. When dere butcherin’ 
was ober dey tried to wake her up ; but she neber stirred, 
do all dey could An’ de doctors, dey looked pale an’ 
’changed looks wid each other. Says massa, says he, ‘ Is 
anything the matter?’ Says dey, ‘ We hopes not.’ But, 
Hepsy, I seen den jess what dey was afeard on. I know’d 
my missus ’ud neber wake agin. Den dey was all standin’ 
dere with dere eyes on her, and massa says, ‘ Dis uncon- 
scious lasts too long. Do something,’ says he. An’ says 
dey, ‘Speak to her, sah.’ An’ says he, ‘Oh, mydarlin’, 
look up! — one word — one look — only one!’ an’ oh! 
Hepsy, she what lubs de berry ground he walks on neber 
stirred. Den says he, ‘ My dear, ’member your baby; lib 


THE CUBAN HEIRESS. 


21 


for our boy’s sake ! ’ an’ she laid just as still as eber. Oh, 

I dunno what come after dat, Hepsy. I just went onto my 
knees, prayin’ Lord Jesus, what hears eben ole niggers’ 
prayers, to take dat white soul up to Heaben. An’ den I 
heard a scream, and massa he fell down on the floor in a 
swoond. Dat chloroform stuff has killed my pretty lady ! 
Dat baby has got no mother now, Hepsy,” and the faithful 
negress bent her head upon her knees and wept aloud in the 
passionate and child-like fashion of her race. 

Hepsibah wept also. 

“ Is the squire in any danger, Deborah ? ” she asked. 

“ Itink not,” said Deb. “ Dedoctor genplenien isdom’ 
eberyting for him. Better he die, dough, an’ go to Heaben. 

I knows what he’s got to bear. When I ’longed to Massa 
Peyton down in Georgy, an’ was a young, good -lookin’ gal, 
dey sold my man an’ my chile from me ; ’peared like ’twas 
parting soul and body._ Only for dat baby I d say better 

let him die.” , , u j 

Hepsibah shook her head and glanced toward the bed, 
where a little hand was tossing restlessly. She had not 
dressed the babe yet, and there were splashes of mud upon 
its garments, despite the thick shawl which had enveloped 
it while out of doors The garments must be changed, if 
she would avoid detection, though with the emotion conse- 
quent on the events of that awful night. Hepsibah’s hands 
trembled so as to render her almost incapable of accom- 
plishing the task. Yet time was passing, and detection yet 
possible. She longed to be rid of the poor negress. 

At last she thought of an expedient. 

“ Deborah,” she said, “it’s most broad day. They’ll 
be wanting breakfast, those doctors, and the servants, too, 
who have been up all of this long night.” 

“Yes, I s’ pose dey will,” said Deb, rising. “ But I 
can’t help feelin’ as if dey had murdered missus, and sort 
o’ hate ’em. No matter what ole Deb tink, dough. I’ll 
go make breaktwist. Oh, Hepsy, we won’t neber hear her 
cornin’ down to sit at de long table any more ! Dat poor, 
pretty lady.” 

Away she went into the dark hall, huddling her shoulders 
in a shawl she wore, and sobbing as she hurried on, half 
frightened by the shadows. 


22 


THE CUBAN HEIRESS, 


Hepsy locked the door behind her, with a feeling of re- 
lief, and .proceeded at once to execute the task of changing 
the babe’s garments. 

Opening a bureau drawer, she drew forth dainty cambric 
and soft, fleecy flannel, tiny golden chains to loop back the 
little sleeves from the dimpled arms, soft scarlet socks for 
the plump feet, and so carefully laid aside by the young 
mother, now lying shrouded in the room above. 

Hepsibah Drew remembered her very wojrds, as she sat 
before the fire with the last-finished garment on her knee, 
seeming to look into the future with her great blue eyes, 
and with a happy blush upon her soft, round cheek. 

‘ ‘ And that I should deceive her ; that I should do what 
I have done ! I’d never have believed it if an angel had 
told me ! ” said Hepsibah. I wonder whether she watches 
me from Heaven, and forgives me ! ” 

The old woman’s tears fell fast, yet she bustled about, 
continuing her preparations steadily. 

^‘No use o’ stoppin’ now,” she said; ^H’ve gone too 
far ; it ’ud only do harm, nothin’ else, to me or anybody.” 

There was a bright little nursery kettle, of burnished 
copper, on the grate, steaming and puffing merrily. From 
this Hepsibah half filled the porcelain bath, tempering it 
with cold water from the ewer ; then she brought one by 
one all the dainty accessories of a child’s toilette — powder- 
box and puff ; soap, like a ball of compressed snow ; co- 
logne water, and towels of the finest fabric. Next she 
drew a low chair to the spot, and brought the babe thither 
from the bed. 

It was wide awake, but it uttered neither cry nor wail ; 
on the contrary it made pretty little faces of delight, and 
strove to grasp the bright brooch which fastened her collar. 

It was a beautiful child ; more beautiful even than the 
little creature whose place it had takerr.' The old nurse 
had never seen a lovelier infant. 

One by one she withdrew its garments, which were fine 
and well made, though much soiled by the exposure of the 
night, and the dimpled limbs felt the first touch of the 
mild and perfumed water of the bath. 

Whether Hepsibah swooned or was taken with a fit just 
then, she never knew. Whatever it was came upon her 


THE CUBAN HEIRESS. 


23 


with a rapidity and deathliness which ever after defied all 
efforts of memory. She was only certain that she remained 
unconscious for hours. The sun was high when she opened 
her eyes and stared about her. She was in her chair still, 
and fortunately, as well as strangely, she had grasped the 
arm of the infant instead of relaxing her hold. Fortunately, 
also, her capacious lap and warm, woolen raiment, had 
shielded the infant from any draught. 

It was weeping bitterly, but neither chilled nor in any 
way injured, save that her fingers had clutched the small 
arm somewhat harshly, leaving a red impression on the soft 
skin. It seemed a miracle that the little creature was not 
lying on the floor, or even in the fire, to which they were 
so close. 

Hepsibah slowly regained her strength and the use of her 
senses. She looked about her, and found her first comfort 
in the remembrance that the door was locked. 

Dave was right,” she said. “ Satan has been abroad 
to-night. I wonder I haven’t had a stroke, or that I ain’t 
dead outright. If I’d not a bin made of iron instead of 
flesh and blood, I would have been. I wish I was ! I 
wish I was ! It’s been an awful night ! I wonder can I 
keep my senses, or maybe I’m mad already ! It’s more 
like delirium than aught else ! ” 

So muttering, Hepsibah Drew exerted her returning 
strength, dressed the infant, fed it ; and when it was once 
more asleep, sat down, and stared into the dying embers, 
like one who had indeed taken leave of her senses 


CHAPTER IV. 

ALIVE. 

On the morning following the visit of David Drew to the 
poor-house, a gentleman attired in a spruce morning-gown 
and slippers, sauntered slowly from his own apartments at 
one end of that grim building, toward the sick ward of the 
establishment. He was in no haste to reach his destina- 
tion, as he had been in no haste to rise, or to finish his late 


24 


THE CUBAN HEIRESS, 


breakfast. Dr, Rawdon was never in a hurry, never seem- 
ingly much moved or interested in anything. He was a 
heavily built man, with small black eyes, and a well shaven 
double chin, and had probably reached the age of forty- 
five. 

Passing a clock upon the staircase, he took out his watch, 
and looked at it. It was half-past nine o’clock, the minute 
hands touched the sign of the half-hour in both timepieces, 
as he turned the handle of the door at the further end of 
the hall. 

It was a long room, with a recess at one end. Narrow 
beds, covered with blue check, were ranged along it, and 
in half a dozen of them lay sick paupers. 

The doctor sauntered along, feeling the pulses and exam- 
ining the tongues of his patients. 

To one old man he said : 

‘^You’ll do now — you shall have some wine to-day, to 
strengthen you.” 

To the next he said nothing ; he lay asleep. The third, 
still another old man, was surveyed with a sort of cool dis- 
gust. 

You’ll get up to-day, take your place, and go to sweep- 
ing,” he said. told you before that 1 suspected you 

had been drinking on the day you were let out to see your 
grand-daughter, and I know it now.” 

And he sauntered on, deaf to the old man’s refutation of 
the charge. 

The other patients were children, suffering from the 
measles. The doctor said some placidly good-natured 
words to these, and then advanced toward the recess, from 
which a door opened, and in which, at work near the win- 
dow, sat the nurse, a comfortable, elderly woman, who 
looked up as he advanced. 

Any new patients in the women’s ward ? ” he asked. 

No, sir.” 

'‘Then I’ll not go in. Old age can’t be cured, and 
that’s all that ails Nelly Cragan. How’s her appetite? ” 

“Wonderful, sir, for soft victuals.” 

“ She’ll live a week or so yet, I shouldn’t wonder. Oh, 
how about the dead baby? I must see that, of course.” 

The woman arose and led the way. He followed. 


THE CUBAN HEIRESS. 


25 


Through the women’s ward, where old Nelly Cragan lay 
dying of old age alone, the two comfortable visitors passed 
to the further end, where something lay under the blankets 
of the bed. 

The doctor turned sharply. 

‘‘I thought you had more sense, Mrs. Mills,” he said. 

What was your motive in covering a dead child with 
warm blankets? ” 

Mrs. Mills looked confused. 

'‘It seemed so little and lonely,” she said, "I felt as 
though it were asleep. It was silly, I know, but I couldn’t 
get it out of my head that it could feel cold.” 

The doctor made no remark. He lifted the little form 
from its nest, and examined it, first as a sort of form, next 
with some interest. At last he laid the child in bed and 
re-covered it. 

"On the whole you have done the best thing possible, 
Mrs. Mills,” he said. " The child is alive ! ” 

" Alive ! Oh, doctor ! ” 

" I don’t say it will live,” said the doctor, " but it may. 
It is in a stupor, either consequent on convulsions, or some 
narcotic. In the latter case, I will tell you what to do ; in 
the former you can do nothing.” 

He gave some directions, in his usual placid voice, to the ' 
attentive nurse, bade her come to him in an hour, to tell 
him the result of her efforts, and sauntered away, stopping 
only to ask old Nelly Cragan some questions, which set her 
garrulously chattering about herself, and leaving the room 
while she was talking. 

Then, his morning’s work being over, unless something 
new transpired, the doctor returned to his own snug little 
parlor and his favorite author. 

It was nearly eleven when a rap came at the door. It 
was Mrs. Mills. 

" Well ! ” said the doctor. 

"About the child, sir?” 

" Oh, yes — sit down. Dead, I suppose ? ” 

"No, sir. I applied the remedies and did all as you 
directed ; and the little thing has been brought back to life 
again by thena. It took some milk five minutes ago, and 
its eyes are wide open. It’s a very fine baby, indeed, sir ^ 


26 


THE CUBAN HEIRESS, 


How any mother could have had the heart to use it so I 
can’t think.” 

Women have the heart to do anything, I believe,” 
muttered the doctor. hope this boy will remember 
what he owes to one of them.” 

There, there,” continued the doctor, after a pause, 
^^your patients will need you, Mrs. Mills. If the child 
needs waiting on, have one of the old women up to help 
you. Ann Hogan would be the best — the least likely, I 
think, to drop it into the fire. Good morning, Mrs. Mills.” 

And the nurse retired, too well used to the doctor’s ways 
to feel hurt at this summary dismissal. 

The baby was numbered from that moment amongst the 
regular inmates of the poor-house. 

Old Davy Drew might well say that Satan had been 
abroad in the storm that bitter night. 

The heir of Shelbourne’s wide lands and full coffers lay 
upon the knee of a poor-house nurse, and the child rescued 
by the watchman from a watery grave, deserted by an un- 
known mother — the child of misery, perhaps of shame — 
occupied its position in its father’s home and heart 


CHAPTER V. 

THE father’s departure. 

Squire Shelbourne lived. The time came when he 
arose, and trod once more the desolate halls of his home- 
stead ; when the soft spring air tempted him into the 
garden, or out into the woods, which lay beyond the vil- 
lage, but nothing comforted him — nothing interested him. 
All his walks ended at the graveyard, beside his young 
wife’s tomb. All his thoughts went thither, even when his 
feet remained within his own parlor — lonely now to him as 
a desert. 

Day or night it was the same. His love had been very 
strong ; his hopes for the future many. It was impossible 
for him to forget for one moment in that house, so haunted 
by a thousand memories. 


THE CUBAN HEIRESS. 27 

His physician grew alarmed. At last he told him plainly 
that he must change the scene or die. 

Walter Shelbourne did not care to live, but he felt it his 
duty to prolong his life for his child’s sake. 

He accepted the doctor’s mandate. He chose for his 
destination, by advice, the West Indies, and made arrange- 
ments for departure much as one might make those for a 
funeral, and with none of the eager interest of one bound 
upon a pleasant journey. When they were completed, he 
went, for the first time in three days, into the nursery, and 
sat down beside the child’s cradle. 

Hepsy was knitting small, snow-white socks for the child, 
just a year old that day. She said ‘‘good morning,” and 
was silent. Somehow she always seemed alarmed and 
anxious whenever Mr. Shelbourne entered the nursery. 

“ My boy is asleep? ” said the father. 

“Yes, sir,” said Hepsy, “ baby is asleep.” 

“He is well?” 

“Very well, sir.” 

‘ ‘ Hepsy, has any one told you that I am going away to- 
morrow? ” 

“ Going away, sir? No ; I never seen any one but Deb. 
I hadn’t heard.” 

“lam ordered to the West Indies.” 

“ That’s a long, way, sir. Will you stay long? ” 

“ Perhaps not — perhaps for years. I may die there.” 

Hepsy turned pale. She dared not ask the question 
which was in her mind. She looked from the baby’s crib 
to Mr. Shelbourne and back again. She ceased to knit and 
waited. The next words came from her master. 

“ I have been thinking of my child. It is, I think, best 
not to take it with me. You have done well with my boy; 
I will leave him in your charge, and here.” 

“ Thank Heaven ! ” The words burst involuntarily from 
the old nurse’s lips, great drops stood out upon her fore- 
head, and she trembled violently. 

“ Do you love my child so ? ” asked Mr. Shelbourne, in 
a faltering voice. “ My poor, motherless boy ! ” 

“Oh, sir, I should die if you took him from me. I 
should die ! ” 

“I am glad you are fond of him. Listen ! The house 


28 


THE CUBAN HEIRESS, 


will be partly shut up. The kitchen, this nursery and a 
few other rooms will be open, and in use. Deborah will 
remain here and yourself. The other servants will be, of 
course, dismissed. If you are timid, you can have your 
brother David here when you choose. In case of the child’s 
illness you will summon Dr. Ritchie. Of course, any ser- 
ious occurrences you will notify me at once. From time 
to time you will hear from me, and my instructions must be 
implicitly obeyed.” 

Yes, sir; they shall.” 

I am sure of it. In case of my death, my sister will be- 
come my child’s guardian, but if I live I desire that he 
shall be brought up here. The time may come when I shall 

return, and be a man again. Just now ” 

He paused, stooped over the childj and kissed it. As 
he did so it awoke. The little thing was Very frail and 
very fair. It had soft, sweet black eyes, and a mouth like 
a rosebud. Instead of struggling and crying as most babies 
do when awakened from a nap, it smiled and crowed 
merrily. 

The father’s heart was melted. Hitherto the love for his 
dead wife had absorbed every emotion save that of duty. 
For the first time he had kissed.it ; now he folded it against 
his breast and wept. 

My darling, my darling ! it is your child ! ” he said ; 
^^the child of our love! God bless it I God make it 
happier than its father ! Good-bye, little one, good-bye ! 
I may never see you again. I wish you could understand 
me and answer me. Good-bye ! ” 

More kisses, more unrestrained tears, and he laid the in- 
fant in its crib once more, and held out his thin, white- 
fingered hand to Hepsy. 

Be good to the little thing,” he said, and God bless 
you ! ” and passed out of the nursery into the wide hall, 
shutting the door softly behind him. 

At six that evening he left the house. As the carriage 
drove away, the two old servants stood at the hall door. 

He’s gone,” said Deborah, ^^an’ de Lord only knows 
wedder he’ll eber come back agin,” and she wiped the 
tears from her eyes as she spoke. , 


THE CUBAN HEIRESS. 


2g 

Aye, he’s gone.” repeated Hepsy, but her tone was one 
of satisfaction, scarcely repressed. 

Five minutes after she was alone in the nursery, crouched 
down beside the cradle. 

** A little while longer,” she whispered ; a little while 
longer. I can draw a free breath. The secret is safe until 
he comes back — at least, unless I die. I’ve no one to 
dread but Deborah ; and who would be afraid of her ? 
Safe for a while — safe, safe — even Davy does not guess it 
yet ! ” 


CHAPTER VI. 

THE doctor’s pet. 

Years pass as quickly in the poorhouse as in other places. 
The life at that of Carltonville had rolled on through the 
twelve months much as usual. Some of the old paupers 
were dead — the youngest and heartiest, so said the older 
ones who remained. Oddly enough, Nellie Cragan was 
among the living. Doctors are not infallible. Dr. Rawdon 
prided himself much on his power of drawing a diagnosis. 
This time he had been set at naught by an old woman, who 
had not died of old age, when he said she should. Nelly 
Cragan ate her spoon victuals, and chattered as she had a 
year before, though she lay for the most part on her bed, 
and complained continually of '^rheumatics in her back,” 
which the doctor declared was nothing but ' ' the pains of 
old age.” 

There were two other foundlings and a little orphan 
among the children ; and the child David Drew brought to 
the door, as he believed, dead, upon that storm night, a year 
ago, was considered one of the older ones. 

By virtue of his year of life, he was beginning to take 
care of himself. A lusty child, large of limb and rosy, he 
could already walk. He was able to approach the fender 
which guarded the hot stove, and learn by experience that 
it burnt his fingers. He was permitted to teach himself much 


30 


THE CUBAN HEIRESS. 


as Adam, had he come into this world a child, must have 
commenced his self-education. 

In three years petted babes fail to learn as much of the 
dangers of fire and water, and high places, and sharp in- 
struments, as this poorhouse child in one. He had been 
burnt on the elbow ; nearly drowned in the wash-tub ; 
scissors had penetrated his soft fingers ; he had tumbled 
down-stairs and out of a window — luckily one on the first 
floor. Being a very sagacious baby, he had finally learned 
to take care of himself. 

One thing, however, was evident — the child had no idea 
of the difference due to his superiors. Had he occupied 
his lawful position in the world, and been the petted heir of 
Mr. Shelbourne, he could not have conducted himself with 
more independence. 

The doctor — that mighty power to whom nurses court- 
esied, and paupers bobbed their heads deferentially — that 
individual to whose skirts no other pauper baby dared cling, 
was the object of his preference. 

Every day escaping easily enough from the blinking eyes 
which kept watch over the pauper children, this particular 
one waddled down the hall, backed down the stairs at the 
end, and standing with his back toward the doctor’s door, 
would give it three or four slow thumps with all the power 
of its little frame. If as often happened the door was a 
little ajar, it opened easily in this way, and baby waddled 
into the sanctum. 

At first the slow, moving head of the stout doctor would 
turn toward the intruder with surprise. An impulse to call 
some one to take the child away came naturally enough ; 
but while considering it the baby would complete his strat- 
agem by backing against the door to shut it, and waddling 
toward him, would remark, in the language peculiar to his 
time of life : 

Ugh ! Dot, wa wa ee.” 

What was meant by this the doctor could not guess. 

Then relinquishing his wish to be rid of his visitor, the 
doctor would placidly watch the child, permit its approach, 
let it sit down on the floor at his feet, and say nothing until 
visions of gruel, or bread and milk floating through the 
child’s brain, made him manifest an anxiety to be gone, by 


THE CUBAN HEIRESS. 


31 


bumping his shoulders against the door once more. Then 
the doctor would arise and let his visitor out, still never 
speaking. 

Soon he began to expect the baby’s coming — to listen to 
the patter in the hall — to open the door if it were closed, 
to respond to the unintelligible : 

Ugh ! Dot, wa wa ee.” 

One day he bought sugar plums with a special view to his 
morning caller ; and fed him with them with an odd pleas- 
ure. At last a curiosity to know what the child’s speech 
meant got the better of him, and he made a special errand 
to the nursery. 

Baby in particular was investigating the ashes on the 
stone hearth. Babies in general were bawling, tumbling 
down, being washed and sleeping. 

The woman in charge rubbed a chair with her apron, and 
offered it to the doctor. 

At that the young gentleman in the ashes lifted his head 
around, and ejaculated, as usual, 

Ugh ! Dot, wa wa ee,” and came forward. 

‘‘ Take keer, doctor ; he’ll make them nice, clean pants 
o’ yourn a sight with his nasty ashes,” cried the woman, 
making a grab at the offending infant ; but, sir, to hear 
him talk — he, he ! ” 

** What is he saying? ” asked the doctor, glad to come 
to the answer without appearing to be anxious on the sub- 
ject. 

Why, don’t you know? ” asked the old woman. It’s 
as plain as print. He’s saying what you says yourself, doc- 
tor, to us, only he puts in your name.” 

‘‘ ‘Ugh! Dot, wa wa ee’ — that’s ‘Well, doctor, how 
are we? ’ He, he, he ! ” 

The doctor made no answer. He did not betray himself. 
Soon he left the room ; but when next the little form plat- 
tered into his sanctum with its salutation, the stout giant in 
the chair bent down, held out a finger and answered : 

“ Well, well, how are we? ” 

After that the conversation always accompanied the visit. 

All his life through he had been a lonely man. He had 
neither sister nor brother. He had never married. He 
was reserved even with his friends. This child, to all ap- 


32 


THE CUBAN HEIRESS, 


pearance a mere pauper infant — no different in position 
from any other — had crept into his heart as nothing ever 
had before. 

Something of a father’s joy in his child’s love he knew, 
when that little creature in its coarse garments stood at his 
knee, or lifted upon it, nestled in his bosom. 

The lips that had never kissed living lips for years pressed 
that baby’s now. The heavy tomes were laid aside for the 
pleasure of sitting in silent communion with that wee mor- 
tal, and the best of all was, it was a secret. No one knew 
where that baby hid itself when missing. Mrs. Mills never 
suspected the doctor, of whom she stood in such awe, of 
entertaining such a guest. The old woman in the nursery 
fancied it went to Mrs. Mills, when she thought at all.j 

The doctor was secretive by nature. Even in childhood, 
toys and pastimes of which no one knew, delighted him 
most. Birds’ nests of which no other boy had guessed, 
puppies hidden in the garret, places to fish suspected by no 
one else. So through his life, even in his profession, to the 
very verge of what the faculty call ‘‘quackery,” for he 
would have liked to make patent medicines, all his own, for 
his sole use, and absolutely had remedies of which he had 
never spoken to any one. 

So this child’s love, and his for it, and their intimacy be- 
ing a secret, was all the more delicious, and all the stronger, 
and from it were slowly growing certain plans and projects 
to be matured, in the time to come. How, the doctor only 
knew. What, he was scarcely likely to tell any one. 
They were plans for his old age and this baby’s manhood- 
plans a father might have had for an only son. They were 
delightful for the first time in many years — they associated 
some one’s happiness — some one’s life with his own. 

“Time enough, time enough,” thought the doctor. “ I 
like to keep the secret to myself awhile, and I’m only forty- 
five. Plenty of time.” 

Poor dying worms that we are, there is always time 
enough for us. We all intend to live a good while yet. 
The oldest, the poorest, and the unhealthiest. We shake 
our heads at others’ plans and projects, but for ourselves 
there is always plenty of time. 


THE CUBAN HEIRESS. 


33 


CHAPTER VII. 

A SEARCH BEGUN. 

In one of those tall buildings in New York, devoted to 
lawers' offices, engravers’ studios and other business places 
of a like nature, you might have found upon a door on the 
second floor the name of Harvey Grier, in gilt letters, on a 
black enameled plate, and opening the aforesaid door, 
would, upon the fourth of March, i8— , at an early hour in 
the afternoon, have discovered the proprietor of the name 
as well as the chambers, seated in a green leathern chair, 
studded with brass nails, at a small black walnut desk in 
the middle of the principal office. 

He was a slight man, of medium height, not over, and 
of some thirty-one or two years of age. 

He boasted a peculiarly smooth, white forehead, .and a 
remarkably fine Roman profile, together with so sharp a 
pair of dark gray eyes, that his office boy was positive that 
he had an extra pair somewhere in the back of his head, 
among the clustering black curls which adorned it. In 
dress he was scrupulously neat. In manners, whatever he 

chose to be, polite, coolly insulting, amiable or severe one 

equally capable of encouraging a timid witness or brow- 
beating an obstinate one. A man who was certain, so said 
his brother officers, to become eminent in his profession. 

At present Mr. Grier was engaged in opening and sorting 
an enormous pile of letters which had accumulated during 
a brief absence from the city. Some were perused care- 
fully, others tossed into the waste paper basket with a 
glance. At last he paused and looked curiously at one. It 
was directed in a delicate feminine hand ; the envelope had 
something singular in its shape and texture, and the seal 
was a drop of green wax, stamped with a star ; the post- 
mark, Havana, Cuba. 

‘'Whom do I know in Havana?” he asked himself, 

3 


34 


THE CUBAN HEIRESS, 


musingly, ''Certainly no lady,” and as though loth to 
destroy the pretty envelope, he opened it daintily with his 
knife at one end. 

The letter was written on thin blue foreign paper, with- 
out lines. It was as follows : 

“ Havana, Feb. — , i8 — . 

<< Mr. Harvey Grier : 

Dear Sir — We require your services in a matter of extreme deli- 
cacy and importance. Those services, to further the end required, 
must be entirely confidential. When you have heard what they are 
you will think of many reasons why publicity must be avoided. 

« Enclosed you will find a small fee, which will assure you of our 
sincerity. Any further demands will be promptly complied with, no 
matter how great they may be. 

“ A year and three months ago, on the night of December — -th, at 
or about twelve o’clock, during a terrible storm of snow and hail, the 
watchman of the place saved a young woman from committing suicide 
on the wharf at Carltonville, Mass. A short time afterward she con- 
trived to escape from his custody, leaving, however, a young infant in 
his arms. 

“ It is presumed that the watchman conveyed the child to the poor- 
house. He may, however, have given it in charge of some other 
authorities, or to some private individual. In so small a place the 
truth will not be difficult to discover. We desire to know (if it lives) 
the condition and whereabouts of that infant. Once ascertaining its 
existence, we are willing to do anything possible to restore to its legal 
guardians one who will be perhaps the wealthiest individual in all 
Cuba on attaining his majority. At present real names cannot be 
mentioned. All communications must be addressed to ‘Anxiety,’ 
Havana, Cuba. " Yours respectfully.” 

The lawyer perused the letter twice, feeling a little in- 
jured at the want of confidence displayed by the conceal- 
ment of the real name of the person who addressed him, 
and very much interested in the mystery just opening before 
him. 

Soon turning to a desk near by, he selected note paper 
and envelope, wrote a brief answer, directed it, and sum- 
moned Tom, his office boy, from the back room, where he 
was engaged in cleaning an inkstand. 

" Take this to the post office,” he said, " and don’t stop 
to stare in windows ; it must go by the next mail.” 

Tom, who bore the marks of his occupation very plainly 
upon his face and fingers, obeyed promptly, and the lawyer 
was alone. 


THE CUBAN HEIRESS. 


35 


The business ot the day was evidently over. Going into 
a small inner apartment, Mr. Grier washed his hands, 
brushed his hair, and donned his overcoat and gloves with 
all the precision of a belle at her ball toilet, and then re- 
turned for a moment to his desk. 

The letters which he had retained he locked up safely in 
one compartment behind the black walnut door, which 
guarded sundry pigeon holes ; the letter from Cuba being 
distinguished as of peculiar importance by being secured in 
a separate division, which opened with a spring. 

After these precautions were complete he left the place, 
and descending the long stairs, sauntered idly toward Broad- 
way, leaving Master Tom on his return to close up the 
office. 

Had the habits of this young gentleman been known to 
his employer, he would have been more solicitous as to the 
security of his private correspondence. Returning to find 
the lawyer gone. Master Burridge cut a caper, whistled, ex- 
pressed himself overjoyed to find the coast clear, and at 
once hung the porcelain slate on the door, locked it, and 
proceeded to heap the stove with new coals, and to draw 
the lawyer’s own leather-covered chair before it. After this 
he rummaged the room until he discovered severed frag- 
ments of cigars, and coolly taking a number of odd keys 
from his pocket, unlocked the rosewood desk — not to ab- 
stract anything of value, but simply to gratify his curiosity, 
and to amuse himself by an operation which he termed 

playing boss.” 

Smoking and reading with the gravity of a judge, Master 
Tom possessed himself of the contents of the letters rapidly, 
and was replacing them when he bethought him of the 
spring drawer. Within it lay one letter — that with the green 
seal, with a star upon it, and postmarked ‘‘ Havana.” 

Master Tom remarking that ‘‘this was from a gal,” 
treated it as he had the others, and found a fund of reflec- 
tion in its contents. 

“ It’s like a play,” he said. “ Lord, don’t I wish I was 
that young un ! ‘ The richest person in Cuba on maintain- 

ing his majority ! ’ Ah, do7i't that sound splendid ! He’s 
such a jolly time before him ! Such a little chap, too ! 
What cigars he can smoke, and what pins he can wear ! 


36 


THE CUBAN HEIRESS, 


He’ll never have to clean inkstands and run errands, he 
won’t. That is if he’s alive.” 

And Master Tom returned the letter, locked up the desk, 
and finished his cigar ends. 

In half an hour thereafter they had produced their usual 
effect, and Tom Burridge was lying very ill upon the floor 
of the office. He had been trying to learn to smoke for 
three months, and was convinced that he should never suc- 
ceed until he had a box of real Havanas of his own and a 
week’s holiday to practice. 

At six or thereabouts a very pale boy went home upon 
the '•top of the omnibus, to tell his anxious mother that the 
pickles she had put up with his lunch had not agreed with 
him. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

DR. RAWDON TROUBLED FOR ONCE. 

Dr. Rawdon was seldom agitated. His placid uniform- 
ity of temper was not easily disturbed. Partly by nature, 
and partly in consequence of his own determination to do 
so, he looked on most things quietly. The best was after 
all not worth very much, the worst must soon end altogether, 
it was not worth fretting about. So he generally argued ; 
but on one particular day his theory failed to be of practi- 
cal use ; and, to his own astonishment, an event occurred 
which rendered him completely miserable. 

A letter, bearing the New York postmark, had reached 
him. It was that from Mr. Grier ; and read as follows : 

New York, March — , — 

Dear Sir: 

Understanding that you have the supervision of the Carltonville 
poorhouse, I take the liberty of addressing you on a subject on which 
you can probably give me the most reliable information. I am assured 
by a client — whose name I suppress — that on the — — of December, 
1 8 — , a child was left in charge of a watchman by a person whom he 
endeavored to arrest, but who escaped his vigilance. It seems prob- 
able that the man should have conveyed it to your charitable and ex- 
cellent institution, in which case you, of course, have a record of the 


THE CUBAN HEIRESS. 37 

event, and will be happy to aid in restoring the child to the care of its 
natural guardians. 

You will oblige me greatly by an answer at your earliest possible 
convenience. 

Yours to command, 

N. Rawdon, M. D. Harvey Grier. 

Letters of this nature had been in the doctor’s hands be- 
fore. Abandoned children had been reclaimed by repent- 
ant parents, and his only sentiment had been a sort of 
quiet pleasure ; now the doctor turned pale and stared at 
the opposite wall, in a perplexed and anxious manner, with 
the note crumpled in his hand, instead of being methodi- 
cally folded like the notes which he received. Moreover, 
though every circumstance was thoroughly remembered, he 
made no effort to answer the epistle. It was a task he 
dreaded. 

At last a noise broke upon his ear — a sharp patter of 
tiny feet. Baby was coming. The door was opened and 
shut. 

Dr. Rawdon heard th^ entrance, but did not look up. He 
waited until the plump hands rested on his knee, and the 
voice piped, ‘‘Dot ! Dot ! ” over and over again, and still 
he kept quite still. But baby was fourteen months old by 
this time, and very adventurous. He climbed a footstool 
near the armchair, and the little down covered head crept up 
and touched the doctor’s hand. 

At that great tears welled up into the doctor’s eyes, and 
with such a movement as you might have expected of a 
mother, the child was caught up to the man’s bosom. 

There it nestled, well content, pouring forth its innocent 
babble, which the doctor had learned to comprehend ; 
grasping at the glittering vest chain, which secured his 
watch, and conducting himself in a manner unprecedented 
in a poorhouse baby. 

The doctor fairly sobbed. 

“ I cannot part with you ! ” he cried. “ I love you as 
though you were my own child ! I meant to make you 
mine ; and must I give you up to those who deserted you, 
because some interested motive prompts them to reclaim you 
at last ? We have the tie of love between us, and I must 
cut it for what idiots would call the tie of nature ! Oh, my 


38 


THE CUBAN HEIRESS. 


darling,’^ and he pressed kisses upon the unconscious in- 
fant’s lips. 

Then, as though ashamed that even that child should have 
witnessed such a display of emotion, he arose, led the little 
one to the door, and watched him as he pattered along the 
corridor until out of sight, then he returned to his seat, and 
covering his face with his hands, actually wept. 

I never loved but one other sweet creature,” he sobbed, 
‘ ‘ and she was taken from me ! ” 

The books of the institution were kept in that room. 
Soon the doctor took them from the shelves where they re- 
posed, and turned to the page in which the record of the 
year i8 — was written. 

It lay before him, all plainly set forth. The apparently 
dead child brought to the establishment ; its restoration to 
life, and its entrance under the regular forms of the institu- 
tion. 

The last record was made in blue ink. Some reason, 
which Dr. Rawdon had now quite forgotten, having in- 
duced him to make use of it, instead of the usual black 
fluid. 

The doctor’s mind reverted instantly to certain acids in 
his laboratory, which had the property of entirely oblitera- 
ting blue ink, though they would have no effect whatever 
on black. It stuck to that subject pertinaciously. 

Confound it,” said the doctor, ‘‘if that last record 
were away, all trouble would be over. I should keep my 
boy, and no one would be the wiser. It* wouldn’t do 
though. Every one knows. Wait a bit — who does know 
but Mills? Nobody ever talks to the paupers, and they’re, 
for the most part, deaf and half childish. I’ll bribe Mills 
to hold her tongue, and have my own way.” 

Just then a pauper shuffled past, wheezing. 

The doctor opened the door. 

“Request Mrs. Mills to come here,” he said, and paced 
the room again. 

Mrs. Mills made her appearance in five minutes, only 
waiting to put on a clean cap and set her front hair 
straight. 

She sat down at the doctor’s invitation, folded her fat 
arms, and put her head placidly on one side to listen. 


THE CUBAN HEIRESS. 


39 


The doctor began at once. 

‘‘Mrs. Mills, you remember, I presume, the night on 
which David Drew brought a child here ? 

“ Little trot, bless him ! Yes, sir." 

“ You remember the circumstances? " 

“Him bein’ dead, and us fetchin’ him to life ! Lor, 
yes, to be sure I do, sir." 

“ Of course, you haven’t thought it necessary to talk on 
such a trivial subject to any one. Probably no one remem- 
bers the occurrence save ourselves." 

“ Lor, sir ! ’’ cried Mrs. Mills, astonished. “ Of course, 
every one in the town knows it, to say nothin’ of the poor 
old things down-stairs, who don’t count for much. Things 
ginerally goes on so stupid here that when there is a bit of 
gossip I makes the most on it. There’s the minister’s wife ; 
she says how she reckons the boy’s intended for a mission- 
ary ; and Miss Croaker declares he’s spared for future trouble. 
Mrs. Jones, that comes in with tracts now and then, and a 
real good, pious body, though a bit sentimental she insists 
he’s got good blood in him, and calls his face aristocratic ; 
and if that’s pretty, dear knows it is ; and visitin’ days, the 
folks come, as I say, more to see poor Trot than anything 
else. They give him pennies, and I keep ’em for him in a 
little box against he’sbig. Oh, Lor, yes; I s’pose I’ve told 
a hundred, more or less, with my own lips, an’ they’re 
likely to tell others, you know." 

“Confound them, yes! Women must gabble. You 
may go, Mrs. Mills," and the doctor fairly turned his back 
upon the nurse, and stalked out of the room. 

“ Massy sakes 1 ’’ muttered Mrs. Mills; “ why should the 
doctor be angry with me for talking about Trot — a body ud 
think " 

Mrs. Mills stopped short and shook her head. 

‘<No — the doctor is a moral man. I won’t judge from 
appearances," and walked away slowly to her own domain 
beyond the corridor. 

An hour after the doctor had conquered himself, and 
with his mind made up to part from his favorite, sat down 
to write. Yet his hand trembled as he copied the words 
and appended a few lines, signifying his readiness to per- 
mit any further investigation necessary for the child’s iden- 


40 


THE CUBAN HEIRESS, 


tification. And he spent the rest of the morning loitering 
by the water's edge with a moody face, and feeling more 
unhappy and disturbed than he had felt for years. 


CHAPTER IX. 

AND A BRIEF ONE. 

Harvey Grier had received the doctor's answer, and 
had addressed his unknown client thus : 

Sir or Madam : 

I have, at your request, made the necessary inquiries, and hasten to 
communicate to you the result. There is, at the Carltonville poor- 
house, a male infant, admitted at the date of which you speak, and 
under the circumstances which you have described. He is healthy, 
handsome, and of a dark complexion. There will probably be no 
difficulty in establishing the claim of any relatives or legal guardians 
upon the child, or in adopting it if any stranger should desire to do 
so. 

Yours to command, 

H. Grier. 

After waiting for some time an answer came — one so dif- 
ferent from that which the lawyer expected that it com- 
pletely puzzled him. 

He sat over it in a brown study for half an hour, and 
then thrust it into his bosom, to the chagrin of Tom, who 
felt an unusual amount of curiosity, increased by the fact 
that this mysterious note enclosed a bank note for one thou- 
sand dollars. 

After this he drew a chair to the stove, and lighting a 
cigar, became the original from whom Tom copied when 
space and leisure afforded. 

He smoked and ruminated some three hours, and then 
started to his feet, a decided man. 

Tom, here are last week's wages for you," he said, 

and you may have a holiday until next Monday. Lock 
up the place, put the slate outside the door, and take this 
to neighbor Russel." 

He scribbled a few lines, assumed his hat and coat, and 
left the office. At six the evening train was whirling him 
toward Carltonville. 


THE CUBAN HE/BESS. 


4 ^ 


CHAPTER X. • 

SUSPICIOUS CIRCUMSTANCES. 

The doctor was asked for. 

‘‘ A gentleman wanted him on business of importance,” 
so said the old pauper, who acted as doorkeeper of the 
poorhouse, and Dr. Rawdon, with a sigh, said : 

Show him in.” 

He knew who was coming, and recognized the visitor 
before the handsome man in black stood, hat in hand, be- 
fore him, uttering the words, 

‘‘Dr. Rawdon, I presume? You will probably remem- 
ber my name — Harvey Grier, of New York.” 

“ Good morning, sir ! Sit down,” said the doctor. 

(He could not have added, “ Glad to see you,” for a 
kingdom, any more than he could have shaken hands with 
the lawyer.) 

“ I come upon the subject on which I have written to 
you,’J said the lawyer. 

Dr. Rawdon bowed. 

“I shall, however, astonish you,” continued Mr. Grier. 
“The child my client seeks is not the one you have de- 
scribed. The circumstances are the same. There is, in 
that respect, an astonishing coincidence. The child my 
clients are in search of is, however, a female, not a male 
infant.” 

The doctor’s heart began to beat more freely. 

“Are you sure of this — quite sure?” he ejaculated. 
“Certain,” replied the doctor, “the missing infant is a 
girl!” 

An involuntary sigh of relief burst from the doctor’s 
lips, astonishing the lawyer intensely. 

“We have other children here,” he said. “You have 
probably mistaken the date. Our books are at your serv- 
ice. The records have always been kept by my own hand. 


42 


THE CUBAN HEIRESS. 


Anything I can do to aid you in your search I will with the 
greatest pleasure.” 

The lawyer was yet more surprised ; the doctor’s whole 
manner toward him had altered. He was even genial. His 
placid face beamed with smiles. He bustled about, and 
placed the records before Mr. Grier, with alacrity. He 
rang the bell and ordered luncheon, and treated Mr. Grier 
like an old friend. 

The lawyer saw the change, but could not guess — how 
should he ? — that the cause was the fond hope of keeping 
his little downy-haired darling for his own which animated 
the doctor’s heart. Soon he forgot everything else in a pe- 
rusal of the records. 

‘‘You say nothing is omitted. No child can have been 
placed here without a due record of its arrival? ” 

“ I will swear to that if necessary,” said the doctor. 

“ I am correct as to dates,” said the lawyer ; “ and the 
boy is the only infant admitted in the year i8 — , between 
the months of September and February.” 

“Yes, sir; that is the case,” said the doctor. “The 
previous entry speaks of a girl, admitted early in Septem- 
ber. Ann Smelt, aged five. Her mother was a washer- 
woman ; and her father killed the poor woman with, I be- 
lieve, a beer bottle. The neighbors brought the child here. 
A baby was admitted just before, but that was a boy; too. 
Tasker, No. — I forget his number, but he is three years 
old.” 

‘ ‘ Who assisted in the recovery of the child brought here 
by the watchman? ” inquired the lawyer. 

“ Mrs. Mills, nurse in the children’s department. Would 
you like to see her ? ’ ’ 

“If you please.” 

Mrs. Mills was called. 

She came this time in her best gown, and in a condition 
which she herself designated as “ flustrated.” 

Mrs. Mills great ambition was to be appointed matron of 
some charitable institution. She never saw the approach of 
a stranger of business-like deportment without feeling sure 
that he came with the intent and purpose of engaging her 
services in that capacity. To-day she was not only doomed 
to disappointment, but to be more ‘ ‘ flustrated ’ ’ than she 


THE CUBAN HEIRESS. 


43 


had ever been before in her whole life. The lawyer (as 
she described it) flew at her at once. He questioned her 
sharply on the subject of the child’s condition and recov- 
ery, of who were present, and who knew of the arrival of 
the supposed corpse ; of who went in and out that day ; of 
what happened. He cross-questioned her. He said sharply 
and without reason, No evasion, ma’am.” He fright- 
ened her and frowned at her, and shook his finger at her, 
all to no purpose. She told, the same story without his 
making her contradict herself. 

When he dismissed her she fled his presence as an ac- 
cursed person might have fled that of the members of the 
Inquisition, and had hysterics in her own bedroom, sym- 
pathized with and ministered unto by another employee of 
the place, who declared she ^‘knowed enough of lawyers, 
and prayed to be kept clear of ’em forever more ! ” 

She knows nothing, I think,” said the lawyer. Would 
it be possible for me to discover the whereabouts of David 
Drew, the watchman, mentioned in your record? ” 

'' I will send for him,” said Dr. Rawdon. He lives 
hard by. This is somewhat mysterious, Mr. Grier.” 

'^You are right, sir,” said Mr. Grier. ‘^And what 
renders it doubly so is the fact that the lost child will be a 
wealthy heiress. There may be motives for her conceal- 
ment not possible in the case of a poor child. You will, 
of course, refrain from mentioning what I have just told 
you to any one. ’ ’ 

The doctor assented by a bow, and led the way to the 
dining-room, where luncheon was prepared. 

They were not interrupted in their meal, for David Drew 
made no haste to answer the summons. The poorhouse 
had been an object of terror to him ever since that awful 
night. It was two good hours before he came. Then he 
appeared, pale and anxious, and stood before the gentle- 
man, nervously plucking the fur from a cap he wore. 

Lawyer Grier tackled him at once. 

‘‘You remember a woman who met you, or whom you 
met on the wharf, one December night, more than a year 
ago?” 

“I didn’t meet her there,” said Davy. “I found her 
passing a place I’d gone under for shelter from the rain and 


44 


THE CUBAN HEIRESS, 


followed her. She wanted to drown herself and her baby 
— I stopped her.” 

He plucked the fur from his cap again, and stood look- 
ing down. 

What then? ” asked Mr. Grier. 

‘‘Well, then, she walked along o’ me a bit, and asked 
me to hold the babby. I did it ; and when she left me I 
don’t know, but when I looked to where she was, I found 
she’d cut and run.” 

“ What day was it ? ” 

“ The dead o’ night of a Thursday.” 

“What day of the month, I mean? No evasion, sir.” 

“ Lord knows if I remember rightly ; I couldn’t swear. 
’Twas just afore I was paid ; and they always pay me on 
the last. I reckon ’twas the 28th.” 

Where did you take the child ? ” 

Davy plucked his fur cap harder. 

“Ask the old woman that tends the door if I didn’t 
fetch a child here that night. Ask the doctor.” 

“ Then the woman must have met you twice, or you met 
two women on the same night, or some other. The child 
we look for is a girl — the one you brought here was a boy.” 

“There’s been a lot o’ foundlings fetched here,” he 
said. “ I never fetched but one. I never met but one 
woman down by the wharf. God keep me from meetin’ 
another, and them from goin’ there. The child that gal 
gave me to hold — the child I fetched here that night — was 
a boy. I’ll swear to that on my Bible anywhere.” 

It was plain he spoke the truth. There could be no 
doubt of that ; plain, also, that he was relieved — why, the 
lawyer could not tell. He went on. 

“You know, of course, that that child came to life.” 

“ What child ? ” gasped Davy. 

“That the child you brought here was not dead, only 
under the influence of some narcotic,” said the doctor. 

“ I did not know it; God knows I didn’t ! ” cried Davy, 
trembling in every limb. “ Alive f Oh, no, it was dead — 
poisoned! I mean I’m sure it was dead ! ” and his face 
turned ashy pale, and he trembled. 

“ He is living, and in this house. Would you like to 
see him ? ” asked the doctor, kindly. 


THE CUBAN HEIRESS, 


45 


Davy looked at him in silence, and shook his head 
slowly. 

I’d rather die than see a child I brought here in the 
poorhouse anywhere but in its graveyard,” he gasped. 
‘^You won’t need me no more, gentlemen? Good>day,” 
and he walked away without another word. 

The child — the squire’s own son in the poorhouse,” he 
moaned, when he was in the road without. Oh, Hepsy, 
it must all come out n^v ! I can’t let this go ! ” 

' The agitation had been too great for him ; he felt giddy 
and ill. At the first shady spot he paused, and sat down 
under a tree. Soon he fell over on his face, with a deep 
groan. It was a quiet place, and three hours passed before 
any one came by, then some laborers at work on a new 
stone house passed that way. One looked toward him. 

‘‘ The old man’s been takin’ a drop,” said the first. 

The other stooped over him. 

‘‘If he has he’ll niver take another,” he said. '‘For 
he’s stone dead. God help him.” 

And he spoke the truth. 

Dr. Rawdon, summoned to the spot by some one who 
gathered around, was among the first to learn the news, but 
he failed to connect it with David’s visit to the poorhouse. 
Sudden deaths were not uncommon. The doctor said, 
“ Poor old fellow ! ” and heaved a sigh, rather for poor 
mortality in general than for David Drew in particular. 

So the old watchman died and was buried, and the 
knowledge which had killed him remained hidden from old 
Hepsibah, who wept above his grave, and felt herself in- 
deed alone in the world. She had no friends, no acquaint- 
ances, and seldom conversed with any one but black Deb ; 
who, in her turn, was separated by her color from the white 
people of her own class in that Yankee town ; so that 
through all that year the fact of the infant’s restoration to 
life had never come to Hepsibah’s ear. 

The events of that day had proved the depth of his own 
feelings to Dr. Rawdon. Ere a week was over, he had, 
quietly as possible, taken measures to adopt the child, to 
the utter astonishment of the authorities of the institution, 
and had sent it away in charge of a stout colored woman, 
who appeared and departed mysteriously ; and, in a fort- 


46 


THE CUBAN HEIRESS. 


night, had changed their astonishment to horror, by resign- 
ing his position, and retiring into private life. 

Dr. Rawdon — the institution must perish without him ! 

But he went ; and a month after, Mrs. Mills, perusing a 
New York paper, found among the list of passengers on the 
steamer Ariadne, bound for Havana, the names of ‘ ‘ Dr. 
Norris Rawdon, nephew, and nurse.” 

Mrs. Mills never put faith in human man again. The 
doctor had always been an exception in her mind ; hence- 
forth she shook her head, and sagely remarked that. 

Whatever men were on the surface, their carryings on 
were just the same the world over !”. and instanced Dr. 
Rawdon. 


CHAPTER XI. 

COMING HOME. 

Nineteen years after the night on which our story opens, 
the house at The Pines was found, at a late hour, in an un- 
usual state of confusion and bustle. Lights glimmered in 
every room, and servants and chorewomen were at work 
scrubbing, scouring and preparing the apartments. In the 
kitchen old Deborah, hardly older in appearance than on 
the day when we last saw her, was engaged in mysterious 
culinary operations, which filled her region of the estab- 
lishment with fragrance, and even penetrated the upper 
floor, where whitewash and soapsuds reigned paramount. 

Black Deborah had grown garrulous with years, and 
loved to talk, even to herself, as she rolled and kneaded 
and peeped into the great old-fashioned oven (Deborah 
would never listen to the idea of range or stove for baking), 
she kept muttering to herself : 

Bress an’ save us ! dis yer is suffin new for us. I did 
tink we ud dry up an’ blow away, house an’ all, an’ libin 
like mice in a hole as ef we was scared o’ folks all dese 
years. Now we’re cl’arin’ up an’ bakin’ in de middle ob 
de night, and eberyting turned ober, ’cause massa cornin’ 
home wid a lot o’ gentlefolks. Time he come, dis nigga 


THE CUBAN HEIRESS, 


47 


links ; to see how dat Hepsy bringin* up his son. I neber 
see such a young gempleman afore. All dat Hepsy' s fault ! ’ ' 
and Deb’s head went into the oven again. 

Her words told the cause of the unusual bustle. After 
nineteen years’ absence from his home, Walter Shelbourne 
was about returning. That very morning a telegraphic 
despatch had been received announcing briefly his arrival 
on the morrow, and requesting that everything should be in 
perfect order, as he would probably be accompanied by 
several friends. 

An old house, of which only three or four rooms had 
been occupied for so many years, was not easily prepared 
for occupation and inspection on so short notice ; but Deb 
and Hepsibah put their heads together and engaging (as 
had been ordered) new servants on the spot, called tempo- 
rary assistants to their aid, and accomplished more than 
could be hoped in so short a time, though at midnight 
much remained to be done, and the laborers were expected 
to continue until dawn. A proof, so declared the assem- 
bled workwomen, of the thoughtlessness of ‘^men folks who 
believed that housework could be done by magic.” 

While the bustle was going one door remained close shut, 
one individual of the household sat almost unconscious of 
the various sounds that awoke the stillness of the night. 

In the old nursery fronting the garden sat a youth, still 
dressed as he had been for the day, with his head buried in 
his arms, and his frame convulsed at intervals by fits of 
trembling which seemed to arise from uncontrollable terror. 

One hand, a little outstretched, grasped tightly a crum- 
pled piece of paper. It was a telegraphic message received 
that morning from the master of ‘‘The Pines,” directed to, 
“ Mr. Harold Shelbourne, The Pines.” 

The hand that clutched the dispatch was white as snow, 
small, and with dimples at the joints. The hair which fell 
over the downcast face was ebon black, and glossy as any 
raven’s wing ; the neck about which it clustered was deli- 
cate enough for that of a child. Now and then the head 
was lifted, then cast down again in a paroxysm of despair. 

At last a rap at the door aroused him. He tossed back 
the disheveled locks, and crossed the room to admit the 
applicant. It was Hepsibah. 


48 


THE CUBAN HEIRESS. 


Twenty years had changed the old nurse woefully. Her 
head was quite white, and her face was covered with a net 
work of wrinkles ; but she was upright and vigorous — still 
far more so than the youth who stood before her. 

Now that the face was visible, it appeared dark of hue 
but delicate of feature, with full, large eyes of oriental 
blackness, long silky lashes, a small scarlet rnouth, deli- 
cately-penciled eyebrows, and a dimple in the chin. The 
forehead was low, but broad, the cheek suffused with a 
dusky mellow red — a lovely face, but not a manly one ; the 
boy looked only sixteen, but his real age was twenty. 

‘ ‘ Awake yet, deary ? ^ ’ asked the old woman. ^ ‘ Why 
not go to bed and sleep? You’ll want to look your best 
and your strongest when ” 

*‘Hush ! ” he cried; don’t, don’t ever speak of him 
again. Sleep ! How can I sleep with to-morrow so near ? 
How can 1 face him? Your sense must teach you that we 
cannot keep the secret. The idea is preposterous ! You 
must have been mad to attempt it. Best tell him at once 
and cast ourselves upon his mercy.” 

The old woman uttered a scream, suppressed almost ere 
it passed her lips, but awful to listen to. She fell upon her 
knees at Harold’s feet and clasped them with both hands. 

‘‘A little while — a little while!” she moaned. ‘^You 
don’t know him. You don’t know what might be done to 
me. I’ve loved you, I’ve been good to you. Oh, niy 
deary, don’t turn again your poor old nursey, and agin 
yourself, too. I’ll die soon; I won’t trouble you long! 
Oh, have mercy ! ” 

Harold stooped down and put both arms about the old 
woman’s neck. 

Don’t cry,” he said. I love you as if you were my 
mother, I’d suffer anything rather than hurt you. But 
one glance will tell him — will tell any stranger.” 

That’s your fancy, dear,” said the old woman. '' Be 
bold, and you’ll keep the secret yet.” 

Harold answered by another trembling fit. 

^‘Bold!” he panted; ‘‘there is not a drop of bold 
blood in my nature. I am afraid of shadows ; I start at 
any unusual sound ; faintness steals over me at every strong 
emotion ; and since I learned the secret you so vainly hoped 


THE CUBAN HEIRESS, 


49 


to hide I have known no quiet moment. Oh, nursey, let 
us tell him ! He will not punish two such defenseless 
creatures. He will only send us away together, and I will 
work for you, and we will live in peace, with no secret to 
hide, and I will love you and thank God that it is all over. 
Oh, nursey, it must be discovered at last — you know it 
must ! ” 

The old woman shook her head. 

It shall not in my lifetime,” she said. I’ve kept the 
secret so long, and I will yet. People never guess a secret 
until they have some reason for suspicion, and no human 
being knows this but we two. Try for old nursey’ s sake ; 
that’s a deary. And they say that master’s in poor health, 
and may not live long, and if he dies we can go to some 
far-off country, and be in no more danger, deary. You’ll 
find It easier to keep than you think. It’s only the first.” 

Harold lifted his face with a hopeless look. 

** It will be every day and hour,” he said. How can 
I call him father ! How can I, base impostor that I am, 
let him call me son ? Well, let it be as you desire. Let 
him discover for himself without confession. My disgrace 
wil) be the greater, our punishment the heavier ; but you 
shall not reproach me. Despite the wrong you have done 
me, you are the only being in the world whom I love ! ” 
And you will try, deary ? ” 

^‘I’ll try — yes, yes, I’ll try.” 

The answer came in a hopeless voice. The beautiful 
face turned pale, the head dropped. 

‘‘lam weary,” said Harold, “ very weary. Sit down 
here, nursey, and let me put my head in your lap and try to 
sleep. Oh, if it were only for the last time, nursey ! — the 
secret might be kept then, and I should be so much hap- 
pier. Nursey, can’t you give me any of that laudanum you 
gave the poor baby by mistake, and let me rest for- 
ever ? I don’t want to live. There is nothing for me to 
live for but disgrace ! ” 

“ Oh, God forbid ! don’t reproach me with that murder ! 
Don’t ask me to commit another ! ” moaned the old wo- 
man. “ I’d rather have been torn limb from limb than do 
what I did. I’ve told you so often.” 

“ Yes, yes, I’m doing wrong; I ought not to wound you. 

4 


so 


THE CUBAN HEIRESS. 


But my life is a wrong ; you know one placed as I am can 
do nothing right. My birth must have been accursed. O’ 
nurse, nurse, this would have been hard even if I were 


Hush ! ” plead the old woman ; the time is so near, 
you must not — indeed you must not speak so ! — for my 
sake, for my sake ! ’ ’ 

And as she spoke she took the boy in her arms, and with 
his head upon her shoulder, lulled him to sleep with such a 
song as nurses sing to babes. 


CHAPTER XII. 

FATHER AND SON. 

The preparations for Mr. Shelbourne’s arrival had not 
commenced at ‘‘The Pines” one moment too soon. 
Scarcely had the superanumeraries been dismissed, the new 
servants appointed to their places, and the household 
placed in readiness for the reception of its master, when 
the shriek of the engine, as it rattled to the depot, newly 
established at Carltonville, told that the train had arrived 
by which it was supposed Mr. Shelbourne and his compan- 
ions would reach “ The Pines.” 

The new coachmen who had been sent from New York 
by a friend appointed to make the selection, in company 
with a pair of magnificent carriage horses, had had a world 
of trouble with the long unused vehicles appertaining to 
“ The Pines,” but they were in available order at last, and 
one of them was driven to the depot to bring the expected 
party to the mansion in a befitting manner. 

Among a pile of baggage the coachman found three 
gentleman — one an elderly man, with white hair and a large 
placid face, which seemed quite incapable of expressing any 
emotion, save that of superlative contentment ; the second 
a youth of twenty, or perhaps a year or two older, whose 
features were remarkably fine, and whose eyes were of a 
dark and brilliant hazel ; the third a gentleman of perhaps 
forty-eight, of commanding form, and handsome though 


THE CUBAN HEIRESS. S I 

rather stern countenance. Standing together the two latter 
bore, or so the coachman fancied, a remarkable likeness to 
each other, particularly in height and figure. 

‘‘ Thim’s relations,” said he. T’other’s the masther.” 
Thereupon he touched his hat and addressed the gentle- 
man with white hair and placid countenance. 

^‘Misther Shelbourne, I belave ? ” he said. I’ve the 
honor to inform ye that I’m yere new coachman, Barney 
Monagan.” 

^‘You’ve made a mistake, Barney,” said the gentleman 
addressed. This gentleman is your master.” 

‘‘ Thin I can’t be axin’ yer honor’s pardon for mistakin’ 
two such fine-lookin’ gintlemen for aich ither,” said the 
coachman. My service, yer honor.” 

The gentleman who had been indicated turned with a 
smile. He glanced at the carriage as though expecting to 
see it occupied, and then with a sudden change of coun- 
tenance, exclaimed: 

Did no one come with you to meet me? ” 

^'No, yer honor.” 

My son is well? ” 

Parfectly well, I belave, sur, though I think I heard he 
was a little agitated by the news of yer cornin’, an’ prepared 
to mate ye at home,” said Barney, repeating the words which 
old Hepsibah had spoken he had asked her whether 
young masther wouldn’t like to ride to the depot to mate 
his father.” 

Agitated!” repeated Mr. Shelbourne; ^'one would 
fancy a woman had sent the message. Men should never 
be so agitated as to forget what is due to themselves or 
others. Yet there is some excuse in this case — the boy is 
young — scarcely past twenty ; and he has absolutely never 
seen me. He was a babe of a year when I left for Cuba, 
Dr. Rawdon.” 

You may say, then, that you have never seen him^ sir,” 
said the doctor. < ^ I often wondered that you never sent for 
him ; a child in such a consolation — such a comfort. I 
found my nephew so, sir, and rasca! as you’ve grown to be, 
I shouldn’t like to part with you now — hey, Dick?” and 
the doctor’s hand came down lovingly on the youth’s shoul- 
der. 


52 


THE CUBAN HEIRESS, 


hope not, sir,^’ said the boy. Your son is just my 
age, Mr. Shelbourne.’' 

^^Yes; and I fancy him much the same sort of fellow. 
You know they always said your nephew resembled me, Dr. 
Rawdon, and I can see the likeness myself ; though, if any- 
thing, I should expect Harold to be larger, broader-shoulder- 
ed, more developed. Not but that you are as much so as most 
young fellows, Dick, but we have always been peculiarly 
large and muscular in early youth. My father was, I 
know ; and you can hardly fancy what I was before my 
health broke down. I am not puny now.” 

We’ll send for the luggage soon. It will be safe here, 
and I am anxious to reach home. Step in ; come, Dick, I 
do want to see my boy. I can’t delay.” 

So speaking they entered the carriage, and were driven 
toward ^^The Pines.” 

As they approached, Mr. Shelbourne looked anxiously 
from the window. Tender memories of the young wife 
who had made that home so bright for two short years, 
and of her early grave in the quiet church-yard, filled his 
heart, and made it very soft toward the unknown son, seen 
only when an infant, now grown to manhood. 

‘‘Shall I see his mother’s face in his?” he thought. 
“ Will there be any tone of her sweet voice in his — any 
token which shall tell that our love gave him life ? I al- 
most wish it were a daughter who should greet me, that I 
might see the mother living in her child. I could not have 
parted from a girl long. Great Heavens ! that is the win- 
dow of her room I ” and he covered his eyes with his hand. 

Dr. Rawdon respected his emotion, and was silent. His 
nephew watched the house as eagerly as its master. 

The carriage turned into the pretty road before the gates, 
and paused with a flourish. The coachman sprang down 
and opened the door, and Walter Shelbourne stood within 
the domains of his ancestors once more. 

The hall door was wide open. Within, on either side, 
stood the servants. 31ack Deb was on the doorstep, old 
Hepsibah a little further back ; behind her stood a youth, 
pallid and trembling, with his eyes cast on the floor. 

“ Lord bress massa ! come back at las ! ” cried Deb, ex- 


THE CUBAN HEIRESS. 53 

tending her hand. Ole nig glad to see him ! Ain’t so 
much altered, massa, only a little older.” 

The maids courtesied, the men bobbed their little bows. 

Replying to all, the master of the house still cast his eyes 
around looking for some one. 

The two figures at the end of the hall still stood motion- 
less — the nurse and the youth. A spell seemed to be cast 
upon them — they were unable to move or speak ! 

Mr. Shelbourne advanced toward them, and stood look- 
ing at the old woman, with something like fear in his face. 

Where is my son ? ” he said. 

And Hepsibah found voice to utter the words, This is 
your father, Harold.” 

The boy lifted his dark eyes, and advanced, holding out 
his hand timidly, as a young child might. 

In stature he was small, in form delicate. He did not 
look sixteen years of age. 

Just now, every trace of color had vanished from his 
smooth, round cheek, and alarm was the prevailing expres- 
sion of his delicate features. 

The father could read no glad welcome home there, could 
feel none in the small hand, given and withdrawn in an in- 
stant. But at the moment he scarcely desired it ; astonish- 
ment, blended with mortification, filled his soul. Was this 
the stalwart son, the brave, gallant boy he had been dream- 
ing of — this pupy, pretty creature, who shrank from him 
like a frightened bird ? What glamor had been cast over a 
son of that house that he should have no spark of manli- 
ness about him? They had^J^een such brave, fine-built 
men — they had prided therhselves on their prowess and 
strength — could this be his boy ? It was ; and that thought 
softened him. Could he be harsh to his dead wife’s only 
child ? He deserved the disappointment — he had not ful- 
filled his duties as a father — he should have kept his son 
with him. 

Again he took the small, white hand, warm and delicate, 
and stooping pressed his lips upon his forehead. 

God bless you, my son,” he said. We shall know 
each other better soon, I hope ; we have been strangers too 
long.” 

The boy lifted his dark eyes, struggled to draw his hand 


54 


THE CUBAN HEIRESS, 


away, pressed the other on his heart, and, with a low cry, 
fell backward into old Hepsibah’s arms in a swoon. 

The old woman bent over him. 

It's nothing, sir," she said. There, he's better now. 
It was the meeting with you. Come, dear, and lie down," 
and she led Harold away into an inner room, closed the 
door and locked it instantly. 

Mr. Shelbourne turned a pale and agitated face toward 
his guests. 

^‘Excuse me for neglecting you so long," he said. 
‘‘ This meeting has been too much for both of us," and he 
led the way into the long parlor, glowing with fire and sun- 
light, and fresh from the recent cleaning it had undergone. 

“You will have dinner ready soon, I hope," he remarked 
to Deb, who answered : 

“Yes, massa ; minute massa pleases." 

“Immediately, then," said Mr. Shelbourne, and sat 
down with his guests before the glowing grate. His sense 
of the duties of hospitality was very great ; his opinion that 
a man should always master his emotions equally strong. 
Otherwise he must have revealed his disappointment and 
mortification to those who sat beside him. As it was a 
shade of restraint in his manner, a less ready flow of lan- 
guage, and a somewhat pale cheek, alone marked the change 
in his emotions ; and when at the summons to the dining- 
room old Hepsibah brought the tidings that Master Harold 
was not well enough to appear, he answered in a formal but 
not unkind fashion : 

“Tell my son we regret his absence," and without an- 
other word betook himself to the duties of a host. 

But placid Dr. Rawdon, who scarcely seemed to glance 
at his friend, read him through. He knew that man’s soul 
and heart and mind. He only had understood the strong, 
though but newly-awakened desire to meet his son, and find 
in him a friend and companion. The timid, child-like boy 
was not what he had hoped for, and he was grieved and dis- 
appointed. Yet those gentle natures were always lovable; 
he might find more than he anticipated in his son. Pon- 
dering thus, the old doctor thought to touch a tender chord 
in the heart of his friend. 


THE CUBAN HEIRESS. 55 

When the meal was over, and the wine passed around, he 
said softly: 

Shelbourne, you told me that your wife died when this 
child was but a week old. I (?'.icy the boy looks like his 
mother. It will be a consolatioh to you.’* 

Walter Shelbourne turned upon him with a scarlet flush 
upon his sallow cheek. 

No, no, Rawdon,” he said, no; there is not one line 
in that boy’s face which reminds me of his mother. He is 
less like her than he is like me. Would to God he had my 

Clara’s face — I could forgive ” x 

He broke off suddenly, and resumed his wonted manner. 

I would naturally be pleased to see the likeness. - You 
can understand that, Rawdon,” and turned the conversa- 
tion to another channel on the moment. 


CHAPTER XIII. 

"how the ghost appeared to RICHARD RAWDON. 

Richard Rawdon was, at all times, an early riser. On 
the following morning he awoke while the stars were in 
the sky, and dressing himself, resolved to investigate the 
beauties of the scenery which had appeared so lovely to him 
on the preceding evening. All the household were asleep, 
save himself, and finding the doors barred and bolted, 
languidly returned to his room, lifted the window, and by 
the aid of the grape-vine trellis gained the ground. 

It was a lovely morning. Nature was just awakening. 
The early spring-time had covered the earth with fresh and 
tender verdure, and, although within doors fires were still 
pleasant, the outer air was far from disagreeable. 

The many evergreens about the mansion had, of course, 
not succumbed to the touch of winter’s finger, and the 
other trees began to exhibit pinky leaf-buds upon their 
graceful boughs, while in the gray sky the moon still lin- 
gered, and the air was full of sweet country morning sounds. 

Richard felt a youth’s pleasure in the freedom and lone- 
liness of the spot and hour, and he walked on, whistling, 


56 


THE CUBAN HEIRESS, 


examining the house with a critical eye, and approving of 
its exterior. 

The front view was good ; he passed round to inspect 
the back. That was almost hidden by the pine trees and 
a lower growth of evergreen, which covered the high wall 
of what he supposed must be a garden. That wall was of 
red brick, with a stone finish at the top, and in its midst 
was a little gate. The sort of gate, thought Richard, to 
which a lover might steal at eventide to meet his lady love, 
whose cruel parent might be master of those gray walls. I 
can see him watching for her, and fancy her opening that 
little gate, and peeping under the red ivy, to make sure no 
one else was near ; and 

Richard did not complete his picture, for just then the 
little gate absolutely opened, and peeping under the droop- 
ing ivy, with exactly the timorous glance he had imagined, 
he saw a lady. She looked about her fearfully, as though 
ready for retreat should she see any one without. But find- 
ing the path clear, as she supposed, for Richard had hastily 
concealed himself, she advanced, closing and locking the 
gate behind her. 

She was dressed in a dark silk, daintily withheld from 
contact with the dewy grass by the whitest of white hands. 
On her head she wore a bonnet, which concealed her feat- 
ures to a great degree, and over her shoulders was cast a 
scarlet scarf. 

Her movements were graceful ; her form light but 
rounded ; and her eyes, even from that distance, and in 
the shadow of her head-gear, evidently wonderfully dark 
and luminous. 

One thing struck Richard as being decidedly strange. 
The lady was evidently young, as evidently beautiful, yet 
the garments she wore were of an antiquated fashion. 
The bonnet such as he had only seen in pictures ; the very 
scarf a relic of past years — a rich thing, quite out of date 
at the present day. The silk was rich and glossy, but it 
was short in the waist, and gored in a manner considered 
graceful by our grandmothers. On a less lovely form it 
might have excited laughter, but the delicately graceful fig- 
ure which it revealed so plainly, made one forget -its oddity. 

The lady passed on ; turning toward a little strip of wood- 


THE CUBAN HEIRESS. 


57 


land, not far away, and Richard followed stealthily. 
Once among the trees, the timid step grew light, and the 
small head turned no more from side to side, as though 
dreading some intruder. 

The girl tripped over the soft carpet of new grass as 
though her feet delighted in its touch. She wore delicate 
slippers, with buckles upon them, and beneath, stockings 
of pearl-colored silk. Oddily enough it appeared to Rich- 
ard that she was absorbed in admiration of her own attire. 
Sitting down under a large elm tree she took off her bonnet. 
The hair beneath was all combed back, under the most 
piquante little cap of rich yellow lace, fastened by a gleam- 
ing arrow, set with diamonds ; on her arms were bracelets ; 
on her fingers jeweled rings. She was not like a lady of 
that day, but like one of the past. 

A feeling, akin to superstition, for a moment filled Rich- 
ard Rawdon’s mind, and made him shiver in the morning 
air. The next he said : 

No ghost was ever so fresh and lovely. This is a living 
maiden, and a beauteous one.” 

He looked again. This time a change had come across 
the lady. She was weeping. Her bright eyes poured floods 
of tears down her soft cheeks. She lifted her hands and 
wrung them woefully. 

Oh 1 pity me ! pity me ! good angels ! ” she shouted 
aloud. Release me from this thraldom — I have suffered 
enough already. Pity me ! pity me ! it is more than I can 
bear.” 

Again, though Richard was not superstitious, his blood 
curdled. He involuntarily made a movement of his arm 
which rustled the tangled bough behind which he stood 
concealed. 

The lady heard the sound — she started to her feet, 
glanced hastily around her, replaced her bonnet, and fled 
with a speed that baffled all Richard’s efforts to follow, unless 
indeed he had been willing to expose himself to observa- 
tion. 

Whether she re-entered the little gate he could not tell ; 
for all he knew, the ground might have opened and swal- 
lowed her, she was altogether so phantom-like and unreal. 
He could almost have imagined he had been dreaming. 


58 


THE CUBAN HEIRESS. 


Wandering on toward the building, he found it still un- 
opened. 

The sun had just begun to guild the chimnies, and make 
the upper windows look like sheets of gold, but no smoke 
arose — no sound was heard, and he wandered away again, 
half expecting to see the mysterious lady tripping before 
him in her quaint and costly garments. 

No such thing happened, however, and when he returned 
at last, weary and hungry, he found the household all 
awake, and the place so full of warmth and brightness, and 
common-place comfort, that his unexpected meeting in the 
gray dawn with that mysterious maiden seemed more like 
a dream than ever. Yet it was a dream he could not for- 
get. It haunted him, and who can wonder ? No lady was 
at the breakfast table as he had half expected, in explana- 
tion of the mystery. No dark eye looked at him from be- 
neath the butterfly lappets of that strange head-dress. 

Only Mr. Shelbourne, and that strange, shy son of his, 
and Dr. Rawdon were present. 

It was a dull meal. Conversation languished. The 
morning interview of that father and son, as they seemed 
to the world, had been even less satisfactory than that of 
the previous night. It seemed to Mr. Shelbourne that the 
evident fear with which the boy regarded him could never 
be overcome, and that it must have birth in weakness of in- 
tellect, bordering on idiocy. For his part, Harold fancied 
that every moment would bring detection. Only for sake 
of the old nurse did he refrain from falling on his knees and 
confessing the truth. But she had so implored him to 
keep their secret, that he bore the agony in silence, learning 
with the passing moments the truth that Mr. Shelbourne 
fancied him wanting in sense, and set down the peculiar 
conduct that so shocked him to the fact of deficient brains 
alone. 

Vainly did Richard endeavor to draw some words of con- 
versation from the youth. Even monosyllables were whisp- 
ered under his breath, and the manly young fellow felt con- 
siderable contempt, as well as pity, for the odd little creat- 
ure at his side. 

After breakfast Mr. Shelbourne proposed a ride to a cer- 
tain picturesque point of view to which strangers invariably 


THE CEB A AT HEIRESS. 


59 


resorted, and they sauntered out upon the porch to await 
the arrival of the horses at the gate — Harold shrinking 
into a corner,' and keeping silent as before. When the four 
fine horses stood ready, it was observable to all that Master 
Harold had no intention of mounting. 

Mr. Shelbourne, already in the saddle, turned half around 
and called to him rather sternly : 

‘^Harold ! 

Sir,’* replied the boy his face flushing scarlet. 

Bring your hat and gloves, and come with us.” 

^‘1 had rather stay at home, if you please,” whispered 
Harold. 

I please that you shall accompany us,” said Mr. Shel- 
bourne. 

Indeed I’m not very well, sir.” 

A ride will improve your health.” 

And I know so little of riding, sir — I — I am afraid.” 

Afraid 1 ” 

Mr. Shelbourne repeated the word scornfully. 

^‘I employed a person to instruct you some time ago. 
Two years since, I think ? ” 

Yes, sir.” 

He attended you ? ” 

Yes, sir.” 

‘‘Well?” 

“ I was not able to learn, sir.” 

“ Then take your first lesson now.” 

Harold did not dare resist the tone of command. He 
crept into the house and out again, and assisted by the 
coachman, who remarked with a grin that “ the gentleman 
was getting up on the wrong side,” attained the saddle. 

There he sat for a moment, his face flushed scarlet, the 
hand which held the reins lying nervously on his knee. 
Then the red turned to white. He put his hand on his 
heart and gave a little cry, and the horse moving a step for- 
ward, he fell helplessly to the ground. 

Two persons darted from the porch as he did so. One 
was old Hepsibah, the other the new coachman. 

“ Bring him in ! bring him in ! ” screamed the old wo- 
man. “ Here ! here ” and as the Irishman’s stout arms lifted 
the youth from the ground, she led the way into the little 


6o 


THE CUBAN HEIRESS, 


room we have mentioned, and had the little senseless form 
upon a couch therein, and the door bolted between the as- 
tonished coachman and herself before the others could dis- 
mount and reach the spot. 

What does this mean? ’’ ejaculated Mr. Shelbourne as 
he stood before the door. 

‘‘I don’t know, yer honor,” replied the coachman. 
‘‘ She pushed me out, the ould body did. I think it’s crazy 
she is, sir.” 

I believe you are right,” said Mr. Shelbourne. Hep- 
sibah, open the door.” 

There was no answer. 

‘^Unlock this door,” shouted the master of the house, 
and the old woman’s voice replied : 

In a moment, sir. Master Harold is better.” 

I tell you open the door.” 

This time a faint voice replied : 

*^If you please, I had rather not. I’m not hurt much, 
sir.” 

Obey me, sir, or I will have the door broken down,” 
said Mr. Shelbourne sternly. 

This time, after a slight delay, the key turned. Harold, 
with his hair damp with water, and pale as death, sat in a 
chair. The old woman, with chattering teeth and shaking 
hands, bent over him. 

Mr. Shelbourne looked at both sternly. He spoke to 
Hepsibah. 

What does this idiotic conduct mean? Are you mad, 
both of you? Why did you fasten this door just now? ” 

At my desire,” said a feeble voice from the chair. 

‘ ‘ The young gentleman was as dead as a door nail when 
she slammed the door in my face,” said the coachman, 
^ ^ and gave no orders about it, ’ ’ 

I knew it warn’ t nothin’ but a faint, ” pleaded Hepsibah ; 

and nothing keeps a body from coming to like a crowd, 
sir.” 

^^Some sense in that,” said the doctor. ^^But there 
was no crowd, and in this case bones might have been 
broken.” 

^‘They might, they might,” cried Hepsibah. ^^Oh, 
they might, what would have happened then ? ’ ’ 


THE CUBAN HEIRESS, 


6l 


You would have regretted your strange conduct,” said 
the doctor. 

<< Yes — that's what I mean, sir,” said Hepsibah, v/ith a 
courtesy. I don't mean nothin' else. How could I, 
sir ? '' 

‘ ^ Dat ole woman is gone crazy at last, ' ' muttered Deb 
from the doorway. 

‘‘ Mad as a March hare,'' assented the coachman. 

I believe this is my fault,'' said Mr. Shelbourne, with 
a little sigh. ‘‘ Shut up in this lonely house for so many 
years, you are neither of you accountable for your actions. 
Could I have foreseen the consequences, I never would have 
entrusted my boy to that woman’s charge. Doctor, Harold 
looks badly. You will ascertain whether he has experienced 
any serious injuries, I am sure.'' 

Dr. Rawdon advanced. 

‘‘ I am not much hurt and desire you not to trouble your- 
self about me,'' said the pale figure in the chair. 

But, my son, I must ascertain,'' began the doctor. 

For the first time the little head became erect ; the eyes 
flashed proudly. 

‘‘You will be kind enough to wait until your services 
are requested, and let me alone,'' said the little voice, in 
a tone that seemed to belie the whole previous conduct of 
Master Harold, it was so determined and so clear. “ Nurse, 
give me your arm,'' and leaning on it, the lad passed into 
the adjoining room, and closed the door. 

“ My boy is not only a fool, but an insolent one,'' ejac- 
ulated Mr. Shelbourne, in a tone of mingled grief and in- 
dignation. “ I can only apologize for him, sir.'' 

‘ ‘ Apologize for a baby ? ' ' laughed the doctor, placidly. 
“ Nonsense ! I don't mind him ! ” 

The servants had taken their departure to gossip over the 
recent events in the kitchen. Only his old friend was there 
to hear him, for Richard was on the veranda once more. 
Mr. Shelbourne could not restrain his emotion. 

“ I am very wretched, my friend,” he said. “ I need 
not conceal from you that my boy is a fearful disappoint- 
ment to me. I fear he is almost an idiot, and a malicious 
one. I cannot win a loving look from him. He fears me 
as a wild little animal might. This morning I put my hand 


62 


THE CUBAN HEIRESS. 


upon his shoulder, and he shrank from me with a shiver. I 
find that it has been impossible to teach him one manly ac- 
complishment ; that his conduct has been in the highest 
degree eccentric ; that he has declined the advances of 
all young men of his own age, and treated those who de- 
sired to show him civility with absolute insult ; that while I 
supposed him enjoying the usual advantages of his condi- 
tion in life, he has remained shut up with old Hepsibah, 
hardly speaking to any one else ; that he cries and has 

hysterics, like a girl ; that But you have seen him and 

witnessed his conduct. Can you wonder at my shame and 
mortification ? What shall I do ? Is there any help, any 
remedy, Rawdon?^^ 

There’s one,” said the doctor, shrugging his shoulders. 
'‘You can make the best of it. What is can’t be helped. 
It’s nature or circumstance, or both together. You may 
find the boy affectionate at last. I don’t deny he’s odd and 
puny, but he is pretty. If he were your daughter instead ot 
your son I should say very pretty, and his eyes are not 
those of a fool — nor his head, Shelbourne. And do you 
know I liked him better when he forbade me to touch him 
than before. There was a spark of spirit, Shelbourne. I’d 
be kind to him, and take pains with him, and keep him 
with me, if I were you, and I’d not fret over it. The worst 
thing a man can do is to fret. It does no good, and may 
do harm, you know.” 

"Ah, you hardly know what trouble is, Rawdon,” said 
Mr. Shelbourne. 

"No?” asked the doctor. " Well, I thought I did 
once ; but that’s thirty odd years ago. I’ve got pretty well 
over it. I’ll tell you the story some day, perhaps. Shall 
we have our ride ? The young fellow is not injured ; take 
my word for it.” 

So the fourth horse was led away to the stable, and only 
three rode out together from the gate of " The Pines ” that 
day. 


THE CUBAN HEIRESS. 


63 


CHAPTER XIV. 

A MYSTERIOUS VISITOR. 

The streets of Carltonville into which the three equestrians 
rode were unusually busy on that day. Quite an excite- 
ment prevailed in that quiet place, where posters were al- 
most unknown, by the appearance of a colored boy with 
paste brush, and an armful of handbills, which he was pro- 
ceeding to post on every available blank wall, tree stump, 
or barn-side. Women stood at their doors, and boys fol- 
lowed in the wake of the bill-poster with gaping mouths 
and eyes wide open with astonishment. 

The three gentlemen reined in their horses, and Mr. 
Shelbourne called to one of the urchins : 

‘‘ What is it, my lad — a circus or a menagerie? 

^‘It’s a reward, squire,” said the boy; ^^sorne un is 
lost.” 

S’cuse me, sah,” said the bill-poster. It’s a young 
lady. Please accept one. You, too, gemplemun,” and 
with a bow he distributed the bills and strutted away, fol- 
lowed by the rabble. 

What is it all about ? Read it, Dick,” said the doctor. 

I haven’t got my glasses.” 

And Richard, unfolding the bill, read aloud : 

** Five thousand dollars reward for information of a young lady 
abandoned on the 3d day of December, 18 — , when an infant. If 
now living is nearly twenty years of age, with dark eyes and dark 
complexion. Has upon her left arm a red mark like a star. Wore 
when lost a garment so peculiar as to be at once identified if pre- 
served. 

“ Five thousand dollars reward for the Cuban heiress, D. J. W., or 
one thousand dollars for sufficient proof of her death. 

“ Address, Anxiety, Box — , New York Post-Office.’* 

The doctor started aud turned pale. 

Confound it ! it brings back old times,” he muttered. 


64 


THE CUBAN HEIRESS. 


There was a search for that child nineteen years ago, 
when I was resident physician at the poorhouse yonder — 
that very child. It must be the same one. They told me 
she was an immense heiress — the richest in all Cuba. There 
were odd circumstances about the affair. Have they been 
searching all the while, or is this a revival of the old story 
on the approach of the majority of the Cuban heiress ? I 
say, Dick, find her and pay court to her, and when she’s 
your wife produce her and demand your fortune, eh? ” 

The doctor laughed as though to cover some stronger feel- 
ing, and riding closer to Dick dropped one hand upon his 
shoulder. 

When an old fellow is a bachelor and has no son,” he 
said, ‘‘it’s a good thing to have a nephew. I don’t know 
what I’d do without Dick, Shelbourne.” 

Dick returned the doctor’s glance with one equally affec- 
tionate, and Shelbourne sighed. 

“I envy you,” he said. “I dare never expect either 
companionship or affection from my poor child ! ” and his 
tone was so unhappy that the party rode on in silence for 
some time. 

At last, on the very outskirts of the village, appeared a 
large white building, surrounded by an old-fashioned gar- 
den, and Dr. Rawdon paused with an exclamation. 

“ Fairfield House ! ” he cried. “ Why, Fairfield and I 
were college chums together. I wonder whether I should 
find him there ? Have you any objections to stopping, Shel- 
bourne? ” 

None whatever,” said Mr. Shelbourne. “ I knew Dr. 
Fairfield well. He was one of the surgeons who attended 
my wife in her last illness. Had his advice been followed 
I might still, perhaps, have had her with me and my child 
had not been motherless.” 

“ I fear the interview will be painful,” said the doctor. 

“ No,” replied Shelbourne ; “I have become inured to 
pain I remember always, but I can remember more sadly at 
one time than another. I should rather like to shake hands 
with Dr. Fairfield.” 

Accordingly, the three rode to the gate, tied their horses 
to the trees without, and walked up the smooth rolled gravel 
path. 


THE CUBAN HEIRESS. 


6S 


The bell upon the door glittered like gold in the noonday 
sun ; the porch was whiter than snow; everything was im- 
maculately clean and spotless, like a new toy-house. It was 
pleasant to look upon, as were the flower beds, where al- 
ready the golden crocus and the purple violet were in 
bloom, and everything gave promise of abundant bloom and 
blossom. 

A peal of the bell brought to the door an elderly servant 
woman, with her sleeves tucked up, who greeted them with 
an injured glance, and hoped in an aside'’ that they had 
‘ ‘ rubbed their feet and not mucked up the porch as soon as 
is was scrubbed ; ” and afterward condescended to answer 
their inquiries. 

Master ain't in,” she said. He’s gone to New York, 
and missus is gone with him. Miss Jones, the doctor’s 
niece, is to be married, and they’ve went. Master Alfred 
is going to-morrow, but he’s here now, if you’d like to see 
him.” 

should like to see the child,” said Dr. Rawdon; and 
the woman, with a giggle, flung the door open, and cried : 

Master Alfred, please come here a minute.” 

For answer, some one came clattering and wheeling down 
the stairs and along the hall, where, seeing strangers, he 
came to a pause suddenly with a Beg your pardon ; I 
thought there was no one here but Margery. Good morn- 
ing, gentlemen.” 

Child ! ” squealed the servant. There’s the child 
for ye! Child! He, he, he ! ” 

The doctor slowly put on his spectacles. 

I might have known twenty years would make you a 
man,” he said; I forgot at the moment. You’re like your 
father, Alfred ; and though you can’t remember sitting on 
my knee, I suppose, you may have heard him speak of his 
old friend Rawdon.” 

Dr. Rawdon ! ” cried the young man ; often and of- 
ten ! Come in ! lam so glad to see you, and your friend. 
Father will regret his absence. Will you stay here in Carl- 
tonville ? Have you come home for good ? ” and the lively 
youth conducted his guests into a small back parlor, where 
the cheerful fire, still welcome in-doors, glittered in a pol- 
ished grate. 

5 


66 


THE CUBAN HEIRESS. 


There he placed seats for them, rang for refreshments, 
and played the host to admiration. 

Richard was fascinated with him, and when at last they 
arose to depart, was easily persuaded to remain behind. 

‘^I’m all alone here,” said Alfred, and. Dr. Rawdon, 
if you’ll lend me your nephew for to-day and a night, I 
shall be extremely obliged to you, and will endeavor to 
make him enjoy himself.” 

‘^Dick is his own master,” said the doctor, and his 
nephew answered, I shall be pleased to remain, Mr. Fair- 
field.” 

Alfred, you mean. I like first names,” said the young 
man. And, doctor, my father will, I know, be overjoyed 
at your return. Good-by. Good-by, Mr. Shelbourne. 
Happy to have met you.” 

The elder men rode away, and after giving orders re- 
specting Richard’s horse, Alfred returned to the parlor. 

Mr. Shelbourne is a fine-looking man,” said he, as he 
sat down. Have you known him long? ” 

‘‘We were together a great deal on our voyage home, 
and we are at present visiting at his house,” replied 
Richard. 

“ Then you must know his cub of a son,” said Alfred. 
“ Upon my word I never saw such a queer little creature — 
impertinent, too. Out of pity more than anything else I 
tried to make his aquaintance. At first he would not see 
me. Said he was sick, and apologized. At last I caught 
him in the garden. He blushed and said, ‘No, sir,' and 
‘ Yes, sir,’ like a child ; and when I invited him he fairly 
told me he wouldn’t come — ’ regretted it was impossible,’ 
were the words. He has treated every one else in the same 
way, and Tom Brown — you must know Tom — he, a bright, 
good-hearted fellow, called there one day, and took quite a 
notion to the little soul. He’s so pretty, he says, and talk- 
ing with him he put his hand on his shoulder (one of Tom’s 
ways), and the little shrimp edged off. ‘I’d rather not be 
touched, I’m nervous,’ he said. Tom declares he felt as 
though he had kissed a girl. How does he use you ? ” 

‘ ‘ I cannot make him familiar ; and he even seems to dis- 
like his own father,” said Richard. “I fear his brain is 
affected.” 


THE CUBAN HEIRESS. 


67 


‘^That may be/' said Alfred. It's the only ex- 
cuse for him. He must make it uncomfortable there for 
you." 

see so little of him that I almost forget his existence, " 
said Richard. But we leave The Pines soon. My uncle 
is looking for a residence in Carltonville. He desires to re- 
main here. You like Mr. Shelbourne, don't you ? " 

He is grave and too haughty, I think, but — yes, I like 
him." 

And I," said Richard, am not sure that I do not es- 
teem him more than any other living being, save my uncle. 
I always find him kind. Our tastes are congenial. He 
takes an interest in my pursuits. It grieves me very 
much to know that there is no mutual affection between 
his son and himself. Were I his son I should love him 
dearly." 

‘‘ Now that I look at you," said Alfred, you are very 
much like him. Have you ever been told that ? " 

Often." 

‘‘And not the least like your uncle Yes, Margery " (for 
at this instant the good woman appeared at the door, beck- 
oning), “ dinner is ready, I suppose." 

“I thought I’d get it early," said Margery. “Young 
folks get hungry sooner than olduns. There's chicken pot- 
pie, and such a puddin' as 'ud do yer heart good. Young 
folks likes puddin'." 

“No matter for the bill of fare," said Alfred. “Raw- 
don, I’ll show you the way." 

And they went together into the dining-room, where a 
table, set for two, displayed a host of savory dishes, to 
which they did ample justice, and to the chocolate which 
followed. 

The young surgeon and Richard Rawdon sat together 
over the fire in the pretty back parlor that night, enjoying 
each other’s society all the more (as young men will), that 
there were no older persons present. 

Richard had much to tell of his life abroad which was 
new to the other, and Alfred, in his turn, had a way of 
repeating the history of college tricks and jokes quite as 
interesting to Richard. 


68 


THE CUBAN HEIRESS, 


Ever and anon peals of silvery laughter filled the room, 
and time passed rapidly. 

At last, Alfred said : 

Do you smoke, Dick ? 

I am very fond of a cigar. 

Cigar ! Oh, I mean a meerschaum,’^ said Alfred. 
^^You don’t know its superiority. The placid happiness of 
coloring a meerschaum cannot be described, but must be 
experienced to be understood. I advise you to learn at 
once. The governor objects, as fathers always do; but, 
bless you, he smokes himself, so he cannot say much. For 
to-night I have some choice Havanas at your service, how- 
ever. ’ ’ 

Thus speaking, Alfred arose, and left the room for a 
moment. He had just returned with his smoking appa- 
ratus, when the office bell rang suddenly and loudly. The 
shuffling of slip-shod feet was heard in the hall, and in a 
moment a head in a handkerchief appeared at the door. It 
was the old servant-woman’s. 

‘^Some one wants ye, Master Alfred. Lor’! them’s 
smokin’ in the parlor, with their nasty feet on the fender, 
as I scoured this morning I ” 

(This last in a stage aside.) 

I’ll be there in a moment,” said Alfred. 

Margery retired, with a doleful glance at the fender, from 
which Dick removed his feet at once. 

I’m sorry ; I must apologize,” he said. 

^^If you don’t put them on again we’ll quarrel! ” said 
Alfred. Mother and father both humor Mag too much ; 
she’s growing saucy. Sit still, old fellow, and be comfort- 
able until I return. Would you like to look at Punch — 
there’s a volume of him. I’ll be back soon,” and rising, 
with that jaunty step peculiar to him, the young surgeon 
passed into the adjoining room. 

Did you ever see a door which was treacherous, inas-. 
much as when you fancied it closed it sprang open again 
with a click ? Such a door divided the back parlor from 
the office. As Alfred closed it, it clung for a moment to its 
place, and then started back, leaving an aperture some 
inches wide, through which the murmur of voices came dis- 
tinctly to Richard Rawdon’s ear. 


THE CUBAN HEIRESS, 


69 


It was evident to him that if it remained thus he might 
unintentionally overhear a conversation not intended for a 
third party, and with the true instinct of a gentleman he 
arose to reclose the door. 

The back parlor crossed the hall, consequently the door, 
which was in the middle of the room where Richard re- 
mained, was in the corner of that into which Alfred had 
passed, and through the narrow opening a full view of the 
front office could be commanded. 

For the instant in which Richard would have stood be- 
fore it had he fulfilled his intention it was impossible that 
he should not see what passed within. That sight arrested 
his arm, and riveted him spell-bound to the floor. Not only 
listening, but watching ! It was dishonorable — it was ab- 
surd. So he said, so he felt ; but he had no more power to 
move than some people have under the influence of sudden 
fear. Such, for instance, as the presence of a mysterious 

something white’' at their bedside at midnight will occa- 
sion. 

This young surgeon stood upright in the middle of the 
room, astonishment depicted in every feature. Before 
him, upon an ottoman, was seated a lady — a young and 
beautiful lady, with jet-black hair, dressed in the garb of 
years gone by. A hood and mantle flung back upon the 
seat she occupied, and her dark ringlets imprisoned be- 
neath a quaint, round cap of old yellow lace. In a word, 
the lady whom Richard Rawdon had seen in the woods on 
that never-to-be-forgotten morning. 

‘‘Am I dreaming?” thought the lad. “This, surely, 
cannot be true ! ’ ’ 

On her right arm the lady wore a bracelet, of gold and 
pearls, but about her left was bound a handkerchief, stained 
through and through with blood. This she extended to- 
ward Alfred.^ 

“I have hurt myself,” she said. “Will you dress the 
wound at once ? ” 

And Alfred, in a voice, scarcely like his own, replied : 

“ Let me see the arm, madam,” and took a seat at her 
side. “It is a singular wound,” he said. “ May I ask 
how * ’ 

The lady interrupted him. 


70 


THE CUBAN HEIRESS, 


she said ; that does not matter. Do what you 
can, and state your fee. I am in great haste.’’ 

The young surgeon arose, crossed the room, took from 
a cabinet such things as he needed, and returned. 

For ten minutes thereafter the dressing of the wounded 
arm proceeded in silence. Still Richard Rawdon stood 
transfixed ; still he felt it utterly impossible to close the 
door or return to his seat. 

When the last touch was given the lady arose, resumed 
her hood and mantle, laid a gold piece upon the table, 
and turned toward the door. 

Alfred Fairfield started to his feet. 

Permit me to summon your carriage or your servant,” 
he said. 

have neither,” replied the lady 

Your friend, then,” said Alfred. 

I came quite alone.” 

Alone ! and it is midnight ! ” said the young surgeon. 
<‘Then, madam, I must beg permission to accompany you 
to your residence. I cannot allow a lady to leave my house 
unprotected at such an hour.” 

I neither need nor desire such courtesy,” said the lady. 

You will most oblige me by leaving me to return alone as 
I came.” 

But you are ill; even now there is fever in your veins. 
Your wound should have been attended to hours ago. Be- 
sides, forgive me, you are too young, too beautiful to ex- 
pose yourself thus to impertinence. I must see that no harm 
comes to you I ’ ’ 

The lady burst into a low, eldritch laugh. 

fear nothing,” she said. What have I to fear? 
And listen. I see in your eye that you purpose to follow 
me — that you hope to fathom the mystery which surrounds 
me. You may spare your pains. Ere to morrow’s dawn 
you may search the town without finding me, though I 
shall be there. You may brush against me in the street and 
not see me; you may, it is possible, enter a room with me 
and be unconscious of the fact of my presence. Leaving 
this room, I vanish utterly and forever from your sight. If 
you speak of me, if you think of me, let it be as of a 
ghost.” 


THE CUBAN HEIRESS. 


71 


With a motion as supple and sudden as that of a kitten, 
she was gone. The door had opened and closed behind 
her, and Alfred Fairfield was alone. 

For one instant the young surgeon stood staring at the 
panels of the door, through which the mysterious, visitor 
seemed almost to have vanished. The next he seized his 
hat, and hastily followed. 

With his departure, Richard Rawdon cast off the spell 
which bound him to the spot, and returning to the fire- 
side sat down before it, wondering at the strange scene he 
had witnessed, and awaiting Alfred Fairfield’s return. 


CHAPTER XV. 

A VOW. 

Alfred Fairfield returned in something less than half 
an hour. Richard heard him enter the office, and fling him- 
self into a chair, with a heavy sigh, as though out of breath 
or wearied. 

He refrained, with a great effort, from intruding upon 
him, and waited, not patiently, but with an outward sem- 
blance of quietude. 

At last the young surgeon came into the parlor, and took 
the seat he had vacated. He was very pale, and remained 
utterly silent for many moments. At last he spoke. 

Pardon me for having deserted you so long. It was 
unavoidable. Something so singular has occurred since I 
left this room that I find it impossible to believe that I 
am not the victim of hallucination. 1 must tell you. 
I ” 

Richard put his hand upon his arm. 

^‘Before you speak,” he said, I have also a revelation 
to mahe. I have acted the part of an eavesdropper. I 
overheard your conversation. Believe me, it is not my cus- 
tom so to forget myself. I did not believe myself capable 
of so ungentlemanly an act ” 

‘‘Say no more, Dick,” interposed Alfred. “Doubtless 
I alone am to blame ; I left the door ajar.” 


72 


THE CUBAN HEIRESS, 


Yes/* said Richard, and I arose to close it, but when 
I unavoidably occupied a position which enabled me to see 
that singular and beautiful creature, for more reasons than 
one I was overcome with astonishment. A spell seemed 
upon me ; I could neither move nor speak ; 1 could only 
stand motionless, with my eyes upon that glorious face.” 

‘‘No wonder,** said Alfred. “Her beauty is almost 
superhuman. Such wondrous eyes ; such scarlet lips ; and 
that . singular dress — those deep brocades ; those jewels, set 
as none are now ; and that bodice, under which the bosom 
rose and fell ! Rawdon, I am not sure this was a woman 
whom we saw ! It was like a vision ! Yet I should be 
mad to think so, as I touched her ; I felt the silken softness 
of her skin ; her breath fanned my cheek ; I saw her color 
come and go. She was a woman — a living, breathing, lov- 
ing woman ! Yet she has vanished like a spirit, and I shall 
see her no more. Beautiful, mysterious creature, whom it 
is impossible that once having seen I should ever forget ! ” 
Richard Rawdon’ s cheek flushed ; his eyes burnt. He 
grasped the arm of his companion once more, and looked 
into his eyes. 

“ Listen,** he said ; “I have seen that lady before.** 

“ You ? Who is she — what is she ? * * 

“ I do not know.** 

“Yet you know her.** 

“ No ; I have only seen her — and but once.** 

“Where?” 

“In the garden of The Pines, before sunrise.** 

Then, as one tells a dream, Richard repeated the story of 
his strange discovery. He told how this exquisitely lovely 
creature, in the costume of the past, had emerged from the 
little postern gate of the building. He revealed, in fact, 
all that he had seen or thought, though not all that he had 
felt. 

Alfred listened eagerly. 

“ When I followed her,” said he, “ she fluttered before 
me in the moonlight, as a frightened fawn flies from her 
pursuers. I kept in sight, myself unseen. Past the scat- 
tered houses, along the wall of the stone church, right 
through the graveyard, where I half expected to see her 
open a tomb and step in, she looked so like the portrait of 


THE CUBAN HEIRESS, 


73 


some one’s great-grandmother when a child. On over fields 
and commons by a short cut to the very gates of The Pines. 
There I lost her — at The Pines, Rawdon, where you first 
met her.” 

‘^Alfred, you bewilder me.” 

The same thought has, then, struck you, Richard? 
You feel she must be an inmate of The Pines.” 

Impossible ! ” 

‘ ‘ How can you be sure ? ’ ’ 

I have inquired of every one in the house if any lady 
resides there, and been laughed at for my pains.” 

‘^Bah! Servants are paid to keep the secret. This 
lady is some favorite of the master.” 

‘‘No, Fairfield; could you know Mr. Shelbourne, so 
grave and cold and upright, a man beyond suspicion, you 
would never harbor such a fancy.” 

“ Well, you know best. Perhaps the secret is the son’s.” 

“ Harold’s ? That poor, puny boy’s ? ” 

“ Harold is as old as you are ; we know his age. His 
absolute avoidance of all without The Pines proves that it 
possesses some uncommon attraction. That silly old nurse 
would keep any secret for him. He has been all his life 
sole master of The Pines, and it is great rambling building, 
only half occupied. Be sure this girl dwells there for love 
of Harold.” 

“And you thihk that lovely creature depraved. Her 
face is angelic. Oh ! you wrong her.” 

“ Ah, Richard,” said Alfred, “you are younger than I. 
Beautiful women are not always good, nor weak-minded 
men innocent. Yet, until I heard your story I did not 
doubt her. Hear the confession of my trust in her. She 
so moved me that, looking at her, I said, ‘ If she be no 
man’s wife, I will learn who she is, woo and marry her.’ ” 

Richard started, and turned pale as death. 

“Listen, Alfred Fairfield,” he cried; “I, who do not 
doubt her, but who believe her the purest maiden on whose 
brow the virgin moonbeams shine to-night — I have taken 
the same vow.” 

They stood together, those young men, in utter silence 
— motionless as statues, their eyes fixed on one another. 
The ticking of the clock upon the mantel, hitherto unno- 


74 


THE CUBAN HEIRESS, 


ticed, suddenly filled the room. tJn consciously they both 
listened to the sound. As they did so there came from its 
brassy throat a whirr, then twelve strokes dropped into the 
silence. They broke the spell. 

Midnight,” said Alfred Fairfield, in his deep, musical 
tone. ‘‘A fitting time for a solemn compact. Will you 
make one? ” 

Speak,” said Richard. 

They moved, and looked no longer like two young gen- 
tlemen of the nineteenth century ; they felt such no longer. 
To their romantic hearts the by-gone days of chivalry had 
returned. Their eyes gleamed, their cheeks burnt. Their 
positions were statuesque. Two knights stood there, ready 
for any deed of love or daring. 

Speak,” said Richard, I am listening.” 

My friend,” said Alfred, for the first time you have 
learnt what men mean by love. For the first time, I, also, 
have had my heart touched as I never dreamt it could be 
touched by mortal woman, and the same girl has thus 
moved us both. I believe her unworthy of this emotion. I 
fear we must cast this fancy from our souls as we would a 
scorpion from our bosoms. You, on the contrary, place 
implicit trust in this lovely creature. Now for the compact. 
Together, as friends and brothers, we will find this girl and 
learn who and what she is. If she is what I fear, we will 
never see her more. But finding her pure as she is 
lovely, we must adore her, and ours will be the task to 
shield her from harm, to protect her from danger, and to 
disarm her enemies or persecutors. We shall love her, 
consequently we shall be rivals. But, Richard, shall even 
love unclasp the golden bonds of friendship ? Shall a wo- 
man part us ? Heaven forbid ! In any event we must be 
friends and brothers forever. Your hand upon it, Rich- 
ard.” 

‘^Friends forever!” said the other; and in that still 
midnight hour their hands were clasped, and like two 
young knights they vowed to be the redressers of wrong, the 
champions of beauty, and brothers until death. 

Then Alfread Fairfield filled two goblets with red wine. 
They lifted and touched them. 

Friends ! ” said Alfred. 


THE CUBAN HEIRESS. 


75 


Forever ! echoed Richard, and when the same was 
quaffed, the glasses crashed together in diamond frag- 
ments on the floor, never to be profaned by another draught. 

At any other hour these young men would have consid- 
ered the parts they played in the romantic scene impossible. 
Then it appeared natural, and not the least absurd. 

We have all experienced the witching power of mid- 
night ; we have all felt it no strange thing to say or do — 
nay, to feel and think under the influence of the white 
moon as we never could while the red sun was in the sky. 
At breakfast-time the world is not the world of the past 
midnight. 

The witchery of the past hour was still upon them when 
they said ‘^good night; and many a long hour each 
watched the stars through the white curtains of their cham- 
ber windows ere sleep veiled their eyes. 


CHAPTER XVI. 

A DISCOVERY. 

Daylight and old Margery aroused them. Each almost 
feared to meet the other as the remembrance of the past 
night dawned upon them, and the younger of the two 
blushed like a wild rose as he grasped his friend’s hand in 
the long hall where they met. 

The courtesies of the table and the desultory conversa- 
tion occupied the breakfast hour, and neither found cour- 
age to speak of the romantic vow of the previous night. 
Perhaps they might have parted without alluding to it but 
for an event which caused the mystery which hung about 
the fair incognito to deepen. 

Breakfast was just over, when there came from the hall a 
howl — it can be called nothing else — which rang through 
the room and caused both young men to start to their feet 
in terror. Alfred’s coffee cup dropped from his hand, 
drenching the snowy cloth with the amber fluid, and Rich- 
ard started up with a vague intention of doing something 
and assisting somebody. 


76 


THE CUBAN HEIRESS. 


Just then the door burst wide open, and old Margery, 
wringing her hands and rolling up her eyes, tottered in and 
sank breathless into a chair. Both young men ran toward 
her. 

My poor Margery,” cried Alfred. What is the mat- 
ter ? ” 

Oh, what will missus say? ” cried Margery. There’s 
been misfortunes afore, but none like this ’ere. O Lord ! 
Bear up. Master Alfred, dear, I can’t abear to tell ye !” 

^^My father! has anything happened to him?” asked 
Alfred. 

^^No, not adzackly in the ways o’ life and health, but 
his property ! Oh, the wretches 1 the incendiaries ! ” 

^ ^ Is the house on fire ? What does the old lady mean ? 
Do speak, Margery ! What shall we do ? ” 

‘‘You can’t do nothin’ ; it’s pasted tight ) the varnish’ll 
all come with it, it will 1 Oh, can’t you lynch ’em, Master 
Alfy?” 

“ Margery, explain ! ” 

“ I ain’t got breath, I ain’t 1 Oh, they’ve ” 

“Well, well ! ” 

“ Oh, they’ve pasted a nasty, filthy show-bill on our new 
painted front door I It’s them pesky boys o’ the Parker’s, 
I know. There’s no mischief they hain’t up to. On Mr. 
Fairfield’s front door, and all the neighbors grinning ! ” 

“I expected to hear of murder, arson, or burglary,” 
said Alfred. “ ThVnk Heaven, it is nothing worse.” 
Margery arose in wrath. 

“Come look at your front door,” she said, “and then 
thank Heaven if you are wicked enough ! ” 

With suppressed merriment in their countenances the 
young men followed her to the door. There, upon the 
glistening snow of the door paint, some vandal had pasted 
a great sheet of white paper on which, in characters of 
inky blackness, appeared the words “ ^5,ooo Reward I ” 

In fact it was the advertisement for the lost Cuban heir- 
ess, which Richard had read that morning, and of which a 
copy still remained in his pocket. 

As x\lfred read this his color changed, and he suddenly 
seized Richard Rawdon’s arm and drew him back into the 
parlor. 


THE CUBAN HEIRESS, 


77 


have made a discovery/* he said. ^^You read 
that poster ? ’* 

Yes ; I have even a duplicate in my pocket. They are 
pasted throughout the village.” 

^‘Richard, you remember that beautiful girl ? ” 

‘‘ Remember her ? Oh, Alfred ! ** 

Her features were those of a Cuban.” 

‘‘Yes, yes. But what ’* 

“ You noticed the passage which alludes to the crimson 
star on her arm. Richard, that arm, that beautiful wounded 
arm I bound up last night, had just above the elbow a red 
star, rose red and distinct as though drawn by a pencil.’* 

“Alfred, you are dreaming.” 

‘ ‘ I swear that mark was there. There is a fate in this, 
Richard.” 

“ Can you be right ? ” 

“Richard, I can scarcely believe my own senses, but 
listen. I could stake everything I hold dear upon the 
truth of my suspicions. The lady this speaks of and our 
lovely incognito are one. This beautiful creature-who has 
come and vanished like a vision is either a visitant from the 
other world or this long Tost Cuban heiress. Remember 
our vow. A mystery surrounds her. She may need 
friends.” 

Again those young hands clasped, and they stood to- 
gether in silence. 

A few moments after, the lad who had been preparing 
Richard’s horse announced him ready. For the present 
they must part. Alfred accompanied him to the outer gate. 

“ This seems like parting with a brother,” he said. “Is 
it possible we have known each other but twenty- four 
hours ? * * 

Richard vaulted into the saddle. 

Au revoir^' he said. “ We will not say adieu.” 

‘ ‘ Aic revoir, * * was the answer. ‘ ‘ An revoir^ and re- 
member.” 

It was the watchword of two knights errant. 


'"1 


78 


THE CUBAN HEIRESS. 


CHAPTER XVII. 

THE DOCTOR SEES THE GHOST. 

Richard clattered up to the door of The Pines and dis- 
mounted thereat with the firm expectation of a warm and 
smiling greeting from the two elder men. On the con- 
trary, when he entered the old dining-room he found them 
seated at a late breakfast, with countenances which be- 
tokened plainly that something unpleasant had occurred. 
Mr. Shelbourne wore a haughty and unusually stern ex- 
pression, and the doctor looked both angry and discon- 
certed. 

‘‘There must have been a quarrel,’^ thought Richard, 
but prudently forebore to notice the singular change by 
either look or word, and seated himself at the farther end 
of the long table, to which the waiter brought coffee and 
other refreshments, with a merry remark and a laugh, 
which, though not as natural, was seemingly as gay as 
usual. 

Still the countenances of the two friends did not relax, 
and their answers were mere monosyllables ; and as Rich- 
ard watched the face of Mr. Shelbourne he saw it grow 
pale with suppressed anger and, it might be, inward pain, 
and at the same moment Dr. Rawdon flushed scarlet from 
cheek to chin. 

Suddenly the former spoke. 

“ Doctor, this must be investigated. I see no sign of 
insanity in you ; I have no reason to believe you subject to 
moments of hallucination. As a gentleman, I, of course, 
feel sure you would not exaggerate or invent in such a case. 
Let me beg you to repeat your statement, word for word.” 

“ Great Heavens ! Shelbourne, you speak as though 
you were cross-examining some witness who had perjured 
himself. You don’t know it, perhaps, but your tone is 
almost insulting. ‘Insane,’ ‘exaggerate,’ ‘invent!’ I 
really feel angrier than I have felt before for forty years. 


THE CUBAN HEIRESS. 79 

Sir, I have told you what I saw and heard. Believe nae or 
not, as you choose.” 

‘‘Dr. Rawdon,” said Mr. Shelbourne, coldly, “you 
misunderstand me. I do not desire to cross-examine you, 
but to inquire into the facts connected with what you have 
seen. Of course the idea of a ‘ ghost ’ is put aside en- 
tirely. Either you were the victim of an optical delusion 
or you saw a woman in the corridor last night. Doubtless 
the first is the case ; if not, there is treachery under my 
very roof.” 

‘ ‘ I was broad awake, ’ ’ said the doctor ; “I saw and felt 
as I do now. You desire me to repeat the story. I will, 
and with more minute detail. Richard shall hear me. See 
the poor boy, wondering what two old fools are talking 
about ! Dick, your uncle has lived to inform you with his 
own lips that he has seen the wraith of ” 

“ For Heaven’s sake, not even in jest,” interrupted Mr. 
Shelbourne. “You agitate and anger me more than you 
can guess. You have seen some living woman. Perhaps 
old Deb or Hepsibah.” 

“ Ha, ha, ha ! ” laughed the doctor ] “ black old Deb ! 
wrinkled Hepsibah ! Why, it was a girl ; the loveliest 
creature you ever saw. Now listen, Dick, and remember, 
I’m not crazy, but in my right mind. You must stick to 
that, or I can’t make a will in your favor, my lad. 

“ Last night I laid awake a long while, I don’t know 
why, thinking of all sorts of things, dreaming as I might 
have done had I been asleep. My night-lamp was burning 
dimly, but the moonlight fell across the floor, making it 
bright as day. I was comfortable. No young bird lying 
in a nest of down ever had a more luxurious time of it. I 
was not conjuring up ghostly images, upon my word I was 
not, but suddenly I heard, as it seemed, a sharp whisper : 

“ ‘ You can’t keep me ; I will go.’ 

“Then a rustle and a struggle. I started out of bed, 
hardly knowing what to think, and made for my door. I 
had left it a little ajar by accident. In the semi-darkness 
my foot struck a chair and made a loud noise. Then all 
was still. The struggles and whispers were over. When I 
opened my door I saw nothing. 

“ ‘ Could it be fancy? ’ said I ; but at that moment I 


8o 


THE CUBAN HEIRESS, 


heard a faint whisk, as of a woman’s skirt. It c^me from 
the end of the corridor, which takes a sudden turn be- 
low my door ; and stepping forward I saw, by the bright 
moonlight, a woman standing at the stair-head window. 
She was small and slight, and wrapped in a hood and 
cloak. But even the tint of her dress was visible. It 
was scarlet ; and at her throat some jewels glittered. I 
don’t know much about dress, but I fancied she looked 
like the girls I used to see when I was a small child, 
rather than the ladies of to-day. She moved, too, with a 
gliding, ghost-like step ; and, as she went down the stairs, 
I heard the sweep of her dress, or of her spectral feet. 
Heaven knows which ! I felt nervous, I don’t deny that; 
but, I said, I’ll follow, be she woman or spectre. So on 
I went, keeping where, if she had mortal eyes, she could 
not see me. From the corridor to the hall, and from that 
to the small door which I heard you say had not been 
opened for years. Shelbourne, as I live, that figure either 
opened that door or passed through it. I saw a gleam of 
light ; but, the next moment, my hand was on the lock, 
and it was fast ; my whole strength could not stir it ! 
Shelbourne, Dick, now comes the horrible fact I When I 
removed my hand it was wet with some clammy moisture. 
An instinct told me what it was. I went back to my 
room and examined my fingers by the light of the lamp ; 
they were red with blood ! ” ^ 

Mr. Shelbourne looked at Richard with an expression 
which plainly denoted the most complete incredulity and 
no little indignation. 

But Richard’s eyes met his with a glance which said 
plainly as words can speak : 

I believe this entirely.” 

The doctor noticed both glances and laughed. 

Ha, ha ! ” he cried. Make Dick believe his old un- 
cle has taken leave of his senses, if you can ! And, upon 
my word, though you might think me mad, I don’t see 
why you should be offended. Landed proprietors are often 
proud of a family ghost ! ” 

*'This is too bad, doctor,” said Mr. Shelbourne. You 
should be too much of a gentleman to repeat the idle gos- 
sip of domestics, when you must guess how deep a pang 


THE CUBAN HEIRESS 


8l 


the thought of such a rumor, insane though it be, without 
foundation, as common sense must teach us that it is, must 
give me/^ 

‘‘ Upon my word, I do not understand you, Shelbourne,” 
said the doctor. ‘‘ To what gossip do you allude? What 
rumor are you thinking of ? 

‘‘You have never heard the story the servants have been 
telling, each other for the last month?’’ asked Mr. Shel- 
bourne. 

“ Certainly not.” 

“You do not know why the gardener, after a few weeks’ 
service, begged a character and dismissal? ” 

“No; I fancied you found the man incompetent.” 

“You tell me this on your honor? ” 

“ On my honor, as a gentleman, Shelbourne.” 

“Forgive me, then,” said the other, extending his hand. 
“ I might have known you better. It is a painful subject 
to me. What I have suffered for the few weeks past I 
cannot tell you. You know, and you also, Richard, my 
dear boy, that this son of mine has made my heart ache, 
that he hates me and shames me, that all hope of the 
happiness the poorest father has in his most witless son is 
denied me. But this other torment you know nothing of. 
You shall. You are my friends. God knows I have rea- 
son to cling to friendship since love is denied me. I 
adored my wife ; she was my idol ; therefore, perhaps, I 
lost her. She died, clinging to life, longing to live for 
her babe’s sake and for mine. She died, too, under pe- 
culiar circumstances. You knew them, Rawdon ; an^ she 
left behind her a child who needed a mother’s care, if 
ever infant did. I neglected my trust. Coward that I 
was, I fled the mansion haunted by her presence, left my 
son to grow up what he is. I am to blame ; and, surely, 
if spirits ever could return to haunt a wretched, guilty 
recreant, hers might arise to ask for an account of these 
long years which I have spent mourning for her, not 
cherishing our child. You cannot tell how horribly the 
thought smote me when I first heard the idle tale, which 
you shall hear from other lips than mine.” 

He rang the bell as he spoke, and bade the servant who 
answered it send the cook to him. 

6 


82 


THE CUBAN HEIRESS. 


Ten minutes elapsed before black Deb answered the sum- 
mons. But during that time not one word was spoken. 
Mr. Shelbourne paced the room, with his eyes upon the 
floor, and the others waited wonderingly. 

At last Deb entered. She had donned a clean turban, of 
all the colors of the rainbow, and an apron white as snow, 
and made her appearance with an apologetic speech. 

‘‘Must^scuse me, massa. Deb was beatin^ eggs ; and 
eggs must be beat jus’ long ’nuff, else nuffin won’t be light; 
an’ laws, den massa couldn’t tech the puddin’. Fus’ duty 
ob de cook is de dinner. Massa knows dat.” 

‘‘Sit down. Deb,” said Mr. Shelbourne ; “I want to 
talk to you.” 

“Tank ye, massa,” said Deb, assuming a chair. 
“Berry much ’bliged. Old bones like to rest, black or 
white.” 

Another pause ensued. It was broken by Mr. Shel- 
bourne. 

“You remember what you told me the other day when 
Sampson McPherson asked his dismissal ? ” 

“Laws, yes, massa.” 

“ I want you to repeat that story to these gentlemen.” 

“Laws, sah, seems to me massa tole ole Deb nebber 
menshun him.” 

“ I did. I repeat the order, but to-day I desire to hear 
the story again. These gentlemen have heard the ridicu- 
lous statement, in some form or other, and I wish them to 
know what it is about. I will leave you with them, and 
henceforth let no friend of mine who respects me, nor any 
servant who desires to keep her place, allude to the sub- 
ject.” 

So speaking, Shelbourne arose and left the apartment. 

The doctor waited until the retreating footsteps had died 
away, and then said : 

“ What is it, Deborah? What story is Mr. Shelbourne 
talking about ? ” 

“’Taint no story; nuffin but de berry bressed truf, 
sah ’ ^ 

“ Well, what is it ? ” 

“ Oh, it’s missus.” 

“Who?” 


THE CUBAN HEIRESS, 


83 


Missus dat walks: Massa Shelbourne’s wife^s ghos, 
sah ! Eberybody knows dat. Ole Deb has dese tree years. 
An’ laws, says I, she won’t hurt no one. She was too good 
and too gentle — ^jus’ the sweetest lady ole Deb eber see. 
Come back to look arter poor Massa Harol, what ole Hepsy 
has spoiled wid her absurd bringin’ up. Dat’s de larfin 
stock ob de place. But, bress ye, dey’s all skeared ; and 
McPherson, he cut an’ run. Fuss time eber she seen her, 
dis nig tremble.” 

When was that ? ” asked the doctor. 

'‘One night, massa,” said Deb. "I wanted to knit 
some stockin’ s, and I remem*bered de yarn was all up in de 
garret. Tinks I, I’ll fotch um down an’ wind um. So up 
I goes. Dat garret is an awful skeery place, any way. Big 
as all out dores, an’ de candle didn’t light only a little 
piece. One end dere’s trunks, an’ chists, and two ward- 
robes, full ob de dead ladies’ tings — missus’ an ole missuses’. 
My yarn was toder end, near de dore, in a basket ; an’ I 
was fbtchin’ up a hank, when de moon shines out in de cor- 
ner ob de garret, where missus’ trunk stand, an’ I sees a 
lady ! Nebber saw nobody look so white. She was dressed 
in silk, an’ shined all ober wid rings and pins. Missus was 
good sperit, no mistake. I knowed her in a minit by her 
gown. Laws, I’d hooked de real one many a-time. 

Oh, missus,’ says I, 'can’t ole Deb do nuffin for 

ye ? ’ 

"An’ she made no answer, but jus’ looked at me an’ 
sunk down, an’ I didn’t see nothin’ more, forde moon went 
down under de cloud, an’ my candle tumble ober, an’ I 
flewed to de stairs, an’ mussy it was I didn’t break my neck 
de way I fell down ’em. Warn’t no one in de house den 
but ole Hepsy, an’ I tole her. She laughed an’ says, ' Nig- 
gers is all fools, an’ believes in spooks.’ I don’t, bress you 
dough. She was as white as yer handkerchief dat minit. 

" Sence massa come back, good many has seen her. 
Sampson, he says she ’peared in de garden, pickin’ roses, 
an dere ain’t one ’ud go up in de garret for a month’s 
wages.” 

The doctor looked at Richard triumphantly, and taking 
a silver quarter from his pocket, held it toward the old ne- 
gress. 


84 


THE CUBAN HEIRESS, 


Thank you for your story, Deb,” he said ; and mind, 
don’t say anything more about it. It is disagreeable to 
your master, and no wonder. Besides, it may be no ghost 
after all.” 

*‘It’s missus’ sperit,” said Deb; ^‘but nebber fear, 
massa, I’ll hold my tongue. Deb won’t say nufhn to no- 
body, not if dey pays her. Tank ye, massa, much oblige,” 
and, with a courtesy. Deb hobbled away to the kitchen, 
where, through the day, she wore a sphinx-like air of mys- 
tery, which astonished her fellow-servants. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

AN ACCIDENT. 

The next week Dr. Rawdon and his nephew took posses- 
sion of a pretty cottage ornee^ one of a row near the river 
side, and with much rejoicing began their bachelor house- 
keeping. 

Old Fairfield and his son were among the ipost frequent 
guests, and Mr. Shelbourne, as much at home as at The 
Pines. Haroid never entered the doors, and Mr. Shel- 
bourne, after endeavoring to persuade and command him, 
resigned the effort in despair. His only solace was the so- 
ciety of Richard, of whom he grew extremely fond. 

Alfred and Richard often talked of the mysterious lady, 
but no solution of the mystery offered itself. The parties 
continued to advertise the loss of the Cuban heiress, and a 
young lawyer’s clerk remained at the little hotel, who had 
come down for the avowed purpose of attending to the 
matter ; but to all appearances there was nothing to attend 
to. 

Thus spring and summer departed, and golden autumn 
came, crowning the earth with harvests. In this, the 
sportsman’s best season, the gentlemen of the cottage and 
The Pines spent the best part of their time in the golden- 
tinted woods, with guns and game-bags ; and on these ex- 
peditions Harold was always taken, greatly against his will 
and little to the satisfaction of others. Yet there seemed 
to be some sense Jn the idea of familiarizing the lad with 


THE CUBAN HEIRESS. 


85 


manly sports, and perhaps Mr. Shelbourne was less cruel 
than he seemed. He desired his son to carry firearms, and 
instructed him in their use, but Harold invariably screamed 
at every report, and no earthly power could conquer his 
timidity. The doctor good-naturedly remonstrated in vain. 

My son shall cease to be a coward, if it is in my power 
to bring that result about,” he said. “ A Shelbourne of 
his nature never disgraced our name.” 

One scene,” however, ended this effort to instill a love 
of sportsmanship into poor Harold’s cowardly breast, and 
came very near removing Richard from this weary world 
before he was ready to quit it. 

The party had been in pursuit of game with little success, 
and were returning through some tangled wood-paths, when 
Harold’s gun, awkwardly carried, caught in a long gnarled 
branch, and in his efforts to disentangle it, it slipped from 
his hand and at the same moment went off, and the con- 
tents entered Richard’s shoulder. 

At once all was confusion. The wounded youth, leaning 
on Mr, Shelbourne’s shoulder, grew paler every instant. 
The doctor anxiously endeavored to staunch the blood 
^ which stained his sleeve, and Harold sank on his knees in 
agony of grief. 

‘^Oh, my poor, poor Richard! my poor Richard! I 
have done it ! III! Oh, see his poor blood 1 I have 
killed him ? It is your fault — yours ! You made me carry 
that horrible gun I Oh, Richard, look at me ! speak to 
me 1 ” and with angry glances at Mr. Shelbourne and heart- 
broken ones at Richard, Harold kissed the hand of the 
wounded youth again and again, and sobbed like a very 
child. 

Even in his alarm for Richard, Mr. Shelbourne found 
time to reprove the poor boy. 

Be a man, Harold,” he said. This would disgrace 
a girl. At least do not express yourself before strangers. 
See, a crowd is gathering. There, leave us — go home.” 

I cannot leave him I ” sobbed Harold ; ‘‘I dare not ! 
Oh, if he should die 1 Doctor, tell me he will not die ! ” 

No, no, my boy, no danger,” said the doctor, and 
Richard endeavored to comfort the lad by a smile, but in 
the very act lost consciousness. 


86 


THE CUBAN HEIRESS. 


He is dead ! screamed Harold ; quite dead ! And 
I have murdered him ! ” and improved matters by fainting 
also, to Mr. Shelbourne’s intense indignation. 

Richard’s wound, though not dangerous, was severe, and 
as The Pines was nearer than the doctor’s cottage, thither 
they bore him, and laid him tenderly upon a couch, where 
the doctor extracted a ball and made him as comfortable as 
possible ; after which old Hepsy was appointed to the posi- 
tion of nurse, and Harold, with pale cheeks and burning 
eyes, crouched down out of sight behind the bed and re- 
mained there until all the rest had left the room. Then he 
crept out and sat down by Hepsibah’s knee, with his curly 
head upon her lap. 

Richard lay, to all appearances, sound asleep, but though 
his eyes were closed he did not actually slumber. His 
mind was active, though his body was weak and inert. He 
heard the movement, and then a low, soft sobbing, and a 
sound of the old nurse’s voice as though she were soothing 
an infant. 

^‘Hush, my darling, hush! It wasn’t your fault, and 
he’ll be well in a week, deary.” 

You are sure, nurse? Oh, when I saw his dear blood 
flow and his red cheek turn pale, I thought I should die ! 
Oh, I would die to save him were he in danger 1 Ah, see 
how still he is 1 Let me stay by him. I’ll be careful. No 
one will be as careful as I ; no one ! ’ ’ 

‘‘ No harm in that, child ; you shall.” 

He is always kind to me, nurse. The only one besides 
you. Ah ! I cannot bear this life long ; it is too weary. 
Only for your sake, dear nurse, I would kill myself. I hate 
that cruel old man ! ” 

‘‘ Hush, hush I you’ll awake him and harm him 1 ” 

Ah, I’ll be still; very still. Dear nurse, go and lie 
down, and I’ll watch. I’ll never stir, or speak, or doze, 
and if he moves I’ll call you. Please ! I can be quiet if it 
is for him.” 

Old Hepsibah arose slowly. 

‘^I’ll do it,” she said, since your heart is set on it ; 
but don’t let me sleep until morning, and remember the 
cool drink if he wakes up,” and the floor creaked under 


THE CUBAN HEIRESS. 87 

her heavy step, and the door closed, and Harold was the 
only watcher in the sick-room. 

Silent as any mouse he sat for many minutes. Then 
Richard felt him draw near and bend over him. One in- 
stant a light breath fanned his cheek, and a soft hand nest- 
led in his curls. The next, two lips touched his in a kiss 
which was too gentle to have awakened a slumbering in- 
fant. 

Oh ! God guard and heal him ! prayed a soft, sweet 
voice, and let me not have the sorrow harm to him would 
bring.” 

Richard opened his eyes. 

Harold, dear boy, I am not asleep,” he said, and 
stretched his wounded arm toward him ; but with a slight 
exclamation the form which bent above his pillow receded, 
and though he spoke again, it was in vain : the strange boy 
was gone. 

Five minutes after Hepsibah resumed her seat, and Rich- 
ard saw no more of Harold for many hours. 


CHAPTER XIX. 

THE LADY APPEARS ONCE MORE. 

During that period of Richard’s convalescence there 
came an afternoon in which he was comparatively deserted. 
Mr. Shelbourne had pressing business in the city of New 
York, and Dr. Rawdon accompanied him. Two of the 
servants had begged leave of absence, and old Hepsibah 
had an attack of rheumatism which confined her to her 
own room. So that until night Richard was to remain at 
The Pines with no companion but Harold, who counted for 
nobody. True, he could summon any of the servants by 
touching the bell, and was able to lounge upon the sofa or 
walk about the room ; but with the touchiness of a con- 
valescent he felt extremely injured, and positively sulked 
two mortal hours before the consolation of reading occurred 
to him. 

‘‘I’ll find a book,” he thought; ^‘they might have 
brought me a few,” and sauntered out into the library. 


THE CUBAN HEIRESS. 


The door was locked, and Richard felt doubly injured, 
but remembering a window on the piazza, went out into the 
garden and endeavored to storm the fortress by that means. 
It was not a difficult task. The French window was raised 
easily and softly, and withdrawing the soft muslin curtain 
he stepped in. It was an octagon-shaped room, with oak 
panels and rows of shelves on two sides. On the third was 
the window opening on the piazza, a quaintly-carved desk 
of black walnut, and a niche in which a bust of Washing- 
ton was placed. On the fourth another long window look- 
ing out upon a splendid prospect of hill and valley, and 
nodding grain-fields, with a glimpse of blue waters in the 
distance, and a narrow door which opened upon a staircase 
which led to the upper floor. 

Richard’s eye glanced over the apartment, and rested 
amazed upon one object Alone in the library sat a lady 
richly and strangely clad ; a book upon her knee, her small 
right hand carelessly furling the pages she had ceased to 
read, her left buried in her bright black hair, which clus- 
tered from under the edges of a lace cap of an old-fashioned 
shape. So might some dame of the olden time have placed 
herself before the artist who was to hand her charms down 
to prosperity. Yet it was evident she did not suspect her- 
self observed by any eye. The grace was natural, the pose 
instinctive, and her mind was far away beyond the dim old 
library. It might be even beyond that sky now glittering 
with the last golden kiss of the declining sun. 

Richard watched her. No other face resembled that. 
This was the lady of the garden, the wounded beauty of 
the office, or a vision. One moment he hesitated, then 
advanced and stood before her. 

As his shadow crossed the floor the lady started up, with 
terror in her eyes. 

Ah, I am lost ! ” she cried : then sinking slowly to her 
knees she clasped her hands and sobbed, Oh, be gener- 
ous ! do not betray me ! Keep my secret — if not for my 
sake, for that of one who would die were my presence 
here betrayed too soon. You are kind, you are good. Do 
not betray me.” 

Richard listened, enraptured, to the gentle, pleading 
voice. 


THE CUBAH HEIRESS. 


89 


“ Betray you ? ** he said. Ah, lady, you see before you 
no enemy, but one who would gladly serve and aid you. 
If the secret you desire to keep is your presence here be- 
lieve me, I will not reveal that presence to a living mortal. 
And if in aught I can be found your friend, trust in me as 
in a brother.’' 

The dark eyes rested on him in surprise, and the lady 
murmured to herself, ‘‘He suspects nothing.” Then she 
said to him : 

“ Have you ever seen me before ? ” 

“Yes, madame.” 

“ Where? ” 

“ In the garden at sunrise, and in Dr. Fairfield’s office at 
midnight.” 

“ Nowhere else; at no other time? ” 

“ Never to my knowledge.” 

A smile spread over the girl’s face. She glanced toward 
the mirror and downward at her rich and elegant attire. 

“ Never to your knowledge? ” see repeated. “ Ah, well, 
tell me what you know of me. Sit here ; you are ill yet, 
and weak ; you have been suffering from a cruel wound, 
Mr. Rawdon,” and she pointed to a low ottoman at her 
side. 

“You know my name, I see,” said the youth in sur- 
prise. 

The girl smiled merrily, and a row of snowy teeth flashed 
upon him. 

“Come,” she said, “I asked you what you knew of 
me ? ’ ’ 

“ I have known, or believe that I knew, of your residence 
at The Pines for several months,” said Richard. 

“ And what more ! ” 

“Nothing.” 

“Absolutely nothing ? ” 

“ No,” said Richard. “ I also know that you are the 
most beautiful and most mysterious of all living beings. I 
know that since I first beheld you I have dreamt and 
thought of you, sleeping or waking, and that, having 
spoken to you, I cannot let you vanish, but must know 
more of you.” 

“He knows nothing,” she says again. “The secret is 


90 


THE CUBAN HEIRESS. 


more easily kept than I supposed. How pale you look ! 
she went on more loudly, but still in a soft murmur. Do 
you suffer? ” 

^^No; I am quite well: only weak from close confine- 
ment.” 

You will hardly take that cowardly little wretch to the 
woods with you again.” 

What little wretch ? ” 

Harold Shelbourne, a miserable poltroon, who has no 
more manhood in him than a child’s puppet. He shot you, 
did he not? ” 

By accident, poor boy.” 

Ah, you pity him ? ” 

‘‘Ido.” 

“ The creature does not deserve it.” 

“ He is good and gentle, and I think cruelly used,” 
said Richard. “Surely a, woman should have pity on 
him.” 

“ Why ? because he is so very like a woman ? ” 

“ Because the women’s hearts are tender.” 

“Ah, well, he has few friends. Thank you for being 
kind to him.” 

Richard looked at her. Alfred’s suspicions recurred to 
him. He said suddenly : 

‘ ‘ Madame, I have promised to reveal your presence to no 
one. May I ask a few questions which may guide me in 
the preservation of your secret? ” 

“Surely. If I choose I will answer them.” 

Richard’s cheeks flushed. The words seemed a re- 
buke. 

“ From whom am I to keep this secret?” he said. 

“From every one.” 

“Yet others know of your presence here?” 

“One other.” 

‘ ‘ That one ? ’ ’ 

“ I cannot tell you.” 

“ I can answer myself. It is Harold Shelbourne.” 

“He knows,” murmured the girl. “Yes, he knows 
all.” 

A pang of jealousy wrung the youth’s heart. He spoke a 
little bitterly. 


THE CUBAN HEIRESS. 


91 


^‘Yes, madame, I believe I know. Harold Shelbourne 
is a happy fellow, since it is for his sake that you remain 
here.’’ 

He knows nothing yet,” repeated the lady once more. 

Am I not right? ” 

^ ‘ No, for his sake I should fly from the hated place : I do 
him a bitter wrong in staying here.” 

Again the jealous pang smote Richard’s heart. 

‘‘You fear to bring his father’s anger upon him,” he 
said. 

She laughed wearily. 

“ It falls heavily upon him now,” she said. “ Mr. Shel- 
bourne hates the little wretch. And who can wonder ? He 
is a manly son to be proud of — a stalwart fellow ! Ha ! 
ha ! ha ! Oh, I despise him very bitterly myself. Yet he 
is not to blame.” 

Richard looked at her astonised. Her cheeks were 
scarlet and her great dark eyes filled with tears. Her 
young heart softened, and she read his emotions in his 
ardent eyes, for, turning toward him, she gave him both her 
hands. 

“Be my friend,” she said; “Oh! be my friend 1 I 
need one very much. You who are kind even to poor, con- 
temptible Harold, will be good to a helpless girl. I wish I 
could tell you all, but I cannot ; only this : without my will 
or knowledge I was brought here. It was a wrong to me 
and a greater wrong to others. But, being here, I stay for 
the sake of my worst enemy, whom I love better than any 
being on the face of the broad earth. Oh I I see you won- 
der in your eyes. I am a mystery even to myself. Here I must 
remain for that one’s sake until death or discovery releases 
me. In the end discovery will be inevitable, and you will hear 
strange things of me ; but you will know also that I have 
been the victim of the strangest spell ever woven about liv- 
ing mortal. You will perhaps despise me, but you will also 
pity me.” 

Richard pressed both small hands to his lips. 

“ Let me help you also,” he said. 

“No one can help me,” she said, “ no one ; no one. 
Yet I may need a friend some day, and you will help me 


9 ^ 


THE CUBAN HEIRESS. 


then, I know. See how low the sun is sinking. They 
will return soon. You must leave me now.^^ 

^‘But I must see you again.” 

^^Yes; I should not say so, but I cannot deny myself ; 
yes, yes. Ah, let me go.” 

But Richard kept her hand. 

One question,” he pleaded, only one. Is it for love 
of Harold Shelbourne that you remain here ? Is he the one 
who wronged you, yet for whose sake you suffer ? ” 

<‘No,” replied the girl. ‘‘I not only say no, but I 
swear it by all I hold most sacred.” 

Is it for— — ” 

answer no more questions,” she replied, haughtily. 

‘ ^ But where shall we meet ? ’ ’ 

<‘In the garden some moonlight night. Is that 
enough ? ’ ^ 

No. What night ? when ? ” 

But she only smiled and glided from the room up the 
small staircase which led to the upper floor. 

For a moment Richard lingered, then bent his steps in 
the same direction, but corridor and staircase were empty, 
and through all the house could be found no trace of that 
fair lady’s presence. Whither she had flown it was impos- 
sible to discover or imagine. 

Now that he had spoken to her, now that, despite the 
warnings of his more experienced friend, he believed this 
exquisitely lovely creature to be good as she was lovely, the ‘ 
chains were riveted too closely about Richard’s heart to be 
broken by any ordinary circumstance. 

The smoldering fire had flashed into a blaze, the first love 
of a boy was born full grown. 

She has asked me to be her friend,” he said. She 
trusts me. She has promised to call on me in time of 
trouble or danger. My life shall be hers. My strength, my 
energies shall be spent in her service, and at last I will win 
her. Yes, she shall be mine ; for whoever or whatever she 
is, I would trust that angel face, that seraph voice, despite 
a million traducers.” 

Yet Alfred Fairfield perhaps would not believe without 
proof. He might utter doubts, insulting to her and offen- 


THE CUBAN HEIRESS. .. 93 

sive to him ; or believing, might win her heart, and leave 
him to despair. 

Friends 1 Ah, yes, we are more than friends,” he 
whispered. Alfred Fairfield is the brother of my soul. 
But I must keep her secret, and I must win her if I can.” 

Yes, it was a solemn promise. He dared not betray 
her, and even that was part of his compact with Alfred. 
Had they not vowed to be her knights and champions ? 

Thus he sat wondering, when Mr. Shelbourne and the 
doctor returned. The first words of the former were : 

‘‘ Where is Harold? ” 

Richard shrugged his shoulders. 

I cannot inform you, not having seen him since your 
departure,” he said. 

Mr. Shelbourne’s face flushed. 

“ Has my son so little of the gentleman about him as to 
leave a guest alone all day?” he said. bade him do 

his duty as a host before I left. I blush for the boy.” 

“No matter, no matter,” said the good-natured doctor. 
“ Dick did very well, no doubt ; don’t expect too much of 
your lad.” 

Mr. Shelbourne paced the room. 

“Doctor,” he said, “this farce is too absurd. That 
boy and I cannot live together. There is aversion in his 
every glance. And I feel as a father should never feel to 
his son. I try to think of him as the child my wife left 
to my care ; but I cannot. Her nature was noble — she 
came of a proud and brave race. She would have blushed 
for him as I do. I am resolved at last. I shall take meas- 
ures to place Harold under the care of some gentleman of 
learning and piety and arrange my affairs so that in the 
event of my decease, he will find himself and his estates 
properly cared for. And leave this place forever, forgetting 
that I have a son, or that the home of my forefathers still 
lifts its head above the earth.” 

With these words, and a glance of mingled bitterness 
and sorrow, he strode from the room, and did not reappear 
for several hours. 


94 m 


THE CUBAN HEIRESS, 


CHAPTER XX. 

A PLAN FOR HAROLD, AND HOW IT ENDED. 

Mr. Shelbourne was a man who wasted few words on 
anything. Having once spoken of his determination to 
place Harold under the care of some learned man, or at 
some foreign college, he never mentioned it again, until, 
one bright morning, when seated in his library with the 
doctor and Richard, he suddenly rang the bell, and re- 
quested the servant to summon Master Harold immediately. 
The boy came at once, wearing that air of perplexity and 
terror which always seemed to fall upon him in his father’s 
presence, and seating himself at the other side of the table, 
hung his head and awaited the communication which Mr. 
Shelbourne seemed about to make on some important sub- 
ject. Never before had the boy’s timid mien so angered 
that stern man. It required a mighty effort on his part to 
restrain some outburst of indignation. For a few moments 
he bit his lips and clenched his teeth ; but at last forced 
himself to speak with a dignified degree of calmness. 

Harold, you and I have known very little of each other. 
It is partly my own fault. I should not have abandoned 
you to strangers for so many years. But since my return I 
have been greatly grieved, and much offended by your con- 
duct. Your whole deportment has been such as to make 
me blush for you. You exhibit neither respect nor affection 
for me. You -have neglected every manly accomplishment 
I have endeavored to instruct or have you instructed in. 
Without disguise, it is evident we are mutually disagreeable 
to each other, therefore, it is, in my opinion, best that we 
henceforth live apart. It grieves me to say so. Does it 
grieve you to hear it, my son ? ” 

No.” Nothing more — that short, coldly-uttered mon- 
osyllable, No.” 

You agree to what I have said? ” 

‘^Yes, sir.” 


THE CUBAN HEIRESS, 


95 


We are best apart.” 

Yes, sir.” 

**Then let me inform you that my friend, the Rev. Alwyn 
North, has agreed to take you under his care, and that I 
shall leave the country at once for Europe. You will have 
a liberal allowance, and every advantage of instruction, by 
which, I hope, you will profit.” 

Thank you, sir.” 

We shall probably never meet again.” 

‘‘No, sir.” 

“You will be ready to-morrow at noon. Mrs. North, 
who is at present on a visit a few miles from this place, will 
kindly stop that you may travel home with her. As you 
appear to entertain some affection for your old nurse, you 
may pass the intervening time with her. I shall pension 
her, and she will reside elsewhere, so that probibly you 
will very seldom see her, if indeed ever.” 

“ Hepsibah — do you mean Hepsibah? ” cried Harold. 

“Of course.” 

“ I cannot part from poor old nurse,” said the boy. “ Oh 
you are very, very cruel,” and bending down his head he 
wept. 

“ You have rendered this alteration necessary,” said Mr. 
Shelbourne. 

“ I ? Oh, it will kill her. It will kill her. I will obey 
— I will do anthing, but don’t take her from me.” 

“Enough of this,” said Mr. Shelbourne; “you may 
go.” 

He opened the door, and Harold passed through it sob- 
bing. 

Ten minutes after, old Hepsibah burst into the room, and 
fell at Mr. Shelbourne’ s feet. 

“ Don’t take my deary from me,” she sobbed. “ I’m 
very old ; I can’t live long. Oh,, please leave my deary 
with me or I shall die. ’ ’ 

Mr. Shelbourne looked upon the tear-stained and wrink- 
led face with some emotion. 

“ I am glad my wretched son has inspired feelings of af- 
fection in any one’s heart,” he said. “ I am equally glad 
that he appears to return that sentiment in at least one in- 
stance. Yet, my good woman, this must be done, and I 


96 


THE CUBAN HEIRESS, 


greatly fear that your influence over him has been far from 
beneficial. You have made no effort to cure him of his 
absurd timidity; you encourage him in his odd habits. To 
use a common expression, you have spoiled him, and for 
his own good you must part. Perhaps counteracting influ- 
ence may make him other than he is. Though I greatly 
fear it is too late to hope.” 

Sorrow was never written more deeply on any brow 
than on that of Mr. Shelbourne’s as he uttered those 
words. 

Richard’s heart throbbed with compassion. 

‘‘ Would that I were his son,” he said, ,, that I might 
prove to him how strong filial affection may be. He de- 
serves affection. He is worthy of respect.” 

So strong were his emotions that he advanced closely to 
the side of the sad, stern man, and took his hand. The 
mute token of sympathy met with no repulse. Proud as he 
was to others, Mr. Shelbourne was always gentle as the 
humblest man to Richard. He looked up at him with a 
weary smile, and repeated what he had often before said and 
thought. 

You are a happy man, Rawdon.” 

Day drew to a close, sombre shadows replaced the glori- 
ous halo of sunset, and amidst them the crescent moon 
arose. 

A peaceful silence rested upon ^^The Pines,” and the 
whole village seemed to repose. 

Now and then the far-off notes of some simple musical 
instrument floated upon the air, or the whistle of a plow- 
man returning homeward pointed the silence with its 
sharp, shrill notes, but nothing ruder fell upon the ear. 

On the verandah sat the gentleman of the house and his 
guests. The doctor lazily recounting some old college joke, 
and the others listening, as all three puffed away at the most 
fragrant of cigars. 

Richard’s mind was in truth wandering, not only from 
the present scene, but from the merry tale. He was think- 
ing of the lovely lady, and of her yet unfulfilled promise of 
a second meeting, and dreaming, as boys dream, of their 
first love. 

Now that Mr. Shelbourne had resolved to leave America, 


THE CUBAN HEIRESS. 


97 


perhaps forever, he found no difficulty in prevailing on Dr. 
Rawdon and Richard to remain at ^‘The Pines until his 
departure. 

Harold was to be sent away on the morrow, and soon the 
old place would be deserted or sold to strangers, so, at 
least, all three believed that night. 

The first token of the breaking up came to them unexpect- 
edly in the form of old Hepsibah, who stood with a small 
bundle in her hand, and an antiquated black bonnet crown- 
ing her cap-boarder, so suddenly before them, that she might 
have risen from the ground. 

*^Vwe come to bid you good-by, sir,’- she said. “I 
might as well get it over. I shall take the evening train for 
New York, where I have friends. It’s hard leaving a place 
I’ve been in so long, but since it must be it must be.” 

My good woman,” said Mr. Shelbourne, this haste 
is unnecessary — entirely unnecessary. I do not intend to 
turn you penniless upon the world ; I shall provide for you 
liberally. Remain until the last. I should grieve to think 
of anything else. It is your right, for you have been faith- 
ful to me and affectionate to my boy.” 

Old Hepsibah shuddered. 

**I’ve done little but harm to you or yours,” she said. 

1 know it, and repent it, and I can’t stay. I’ll let you 
know where I am when I fetch my things, sir ; but I must 
be quick now or I’ll lose the train. God bless you, sir, 
and try and forgive me, as you need forgiveness from God 
yourself. Good-by, sir; good-by, gentlemen.” And in a 
determined way, which made interference quite impossible, 
she left the porch, and trudged away in the moonlight, 
leaving the group upon the porch to discuss her singular 
conduct. 

‘^As well so, perhaps,” said Mr. Shelbourne. ‘‘We 
shall avoid a scene when Harold goes. Poor old woman, I 
have made her wretched. It is part of my fate. I think 
God must look angrily upon me, Rawdon. He has af- 
flicted me sorely.” 

At this moment the sound of carriage wheels was heard, 
and, to the surprise of all, a vehicle drove to the gate and 
stopped, and the driver descending, handed out a lady, 

“It is the hotel carriage,” said Dr. Rawdon; “and 

7 


98 


THE CUBAN HEIRESS. 


that is Dick Duncan, or I’m no guesser ; but who can the 
lady be ? ” 

The lady, if I am not mistaken, is Mrs. North,” said 
Mr. Shelbourne, and, arising, advanced to meet her. 

‘^Mrs. North, 1 believe.” 

‘‘Yes, Mr. Shelbourne. You scarcely expected me at 
such an hour.” 

“ Nevertheless, I am a happy to receive you.” 

‘ ‘ I have been suddenly called home by the illness of my 
father,” said Mrs. North, “ and must travel with all haste; 
but, having promised to call for your son, and understand- 
ing that his extreme timidity and nervousness renders it un- 
desirable that he should travel alone, I have stopped at this 
unseasonable hour. The young gentleman can, perhaps ac- 
company me, and his trunks can be forwarded to-morrow 
or at any appointed time.” 

“ You are very kind, Mrs. North,” said Mrs. Shelbourne. 

My son can be ready immediately. You will find him 
sadly in need of a mother’s care and counsel ; sadly de- 
ficient in every mental and physical quality. But, I trust, 
you will make every allowance for him ; and though I can- 
not expect you to feel that interest in him which brilliant 
qualities would awaken, I know you wiU be gentle with 
him. Thus far, his only affectionate impulses have been 
toward an old woman, his nurse from infancy. Perhaps 
another woman, and one in every way so admirable as Mrs. 
North, may have more influence over him than I. I have 
done wrong, perhaps ; I have not, it may be, understood 
him. I confide to you the task I am incapable of filling.” 

“I will be a mother to the poor boy,” said the lady. 
“ I assure you I already pity him; and, my dear sir, trust 
in God — He may shed light upon the poor lad’s mind, and 
make him all you wish.” 

Mr. Shelbourne bowed, and rose to ring the bell. 

“You will take some refreshment, Mrs North,” he 
said. 

“No, sir; I have just eaten heartily, thank you.” 

“A glass of wine, then. Samuel, the sherry : and re- 
quest Master Harold to prepare instantly to accompany Mrs. 
North.” 

The servant left the room. 


99 


THE CUBAN HEIRESS. 

Ten minutes after he returned with the wine and glasses 
on a silver salver. Ten minutes more elapsed, still no sign 
of Harold. 

Mrs. North grew anxious. 

I grieve to hurry Master Harold,” she said, but the 
time is passing, and I must leave by the evening train.” 

Again Mr. Shelbourne rang the bell. This time old De- 
borah replied. 

‘‘ Tell Master Harold that his father desires his presence 
instantly,” said he. 

Deb grinned. 

Mass Harol knows dat good enough,” she said. 

Why does he not come, then ? ” 

‘‘ Says he won’t, mars.” 

Won’t?” 

Yes, sah ; won’t go to-night, he says.” 

‘‘Does he know Mrs. North is kind enough to trouble 
and incommode herself on his account? ” 

“ Guess so, mars.” 

“This is unbearable,” said Mr. Shelbourne. “Order 
him instantly ” 

Here Mrs. North interposed. 

“ As the young gentleman is to be placed under my care, 
I presume it will not be improper for me to attempt to in- 
fluence him in this matter,” she said. “ Young persons of 
feeble mind are amenable to kindness, and I have some 
experience. Where is Master Harold ? ’ ’ 

“ In the drawing-room, mum, lying on the sofy, sulk- 
ing,” said Deb. 

“Show me the way. I’d rather go alone, Mr. Shel- 
bourne.” 

And Mrs. North followed black Deb. 

Once in the hall that functionary revealed a long row of 
glistening ivory, and shook her high-capped head. 

“My ’pinion is he’s more adebble dan a fool, missus,” 
she said. 

“ Bless me 1 Don’t use such language ! ” said the clergy- 
man’s wife. “ ‘Devil’ is profane, and ‘ fooD forbidden. 
So you think his temper is at fault? ” 

“ Knows it, missus,” said Deb. “Smart as steel trap 
— don’t tell ole nig ; only ’termined to be cantankerous. 


100 


THE CUBAN HEIRESS. 


Missus gwine to hab her hands full/' and she opened the 
door of the drawing-room. 

Mrs. North took the lamp and entered. 

For a. few moments Deb heard a murmur of voices, then 
^rill exclamations of horror, and Mrs. North swept out 
with a face flushed scarlet and eyes sparkling with indigna- 
tion. 

Show me the way from this den of iniquity," she said. 

I am disgraced to have entered it. That creature; that 
sinful creature ! Gracious goodness ! what is the world 
coming to ? " 

^ ‘ What de matter, missus ? ’ ' asked Deb. 

^ ^ Have they deceived you ? I shouldn't wonder, poor 
old black soul ! But they thought to cheat me. They 
might have known me better. There, show me the way. 
Why did I ever cross the threshold." 

She brushed past Deb, even as she spoke the words, and 
made her way toward the door opening on the porch, and 
would have glided past the three gentlemen but that Mr. 
Shelbourne stopped her. 

‘‘Mrs. North, what has happened?" 

“ I have discovered your deception, sir ! " and she 
turned an angry face toward him. “Let me go I This 
roof smothers me ! Oh, shame, shame, sir, shame ! " 

“ Mrs. North, I pray you to explain yourself. Has any- 
thing been done to oflend you ? " 

“ To oflend me? Oh, Mr. Shelbourne, you ask me that 
— you who have endeavored to introduce an abandoned 
creature into the home of innocence and decency — the 
home where my pure daughters dwell, and where I, an 
honest matron, have lived uprightly so many years; the 
home where the servant of God is master ! Shame, sir, 
shame ! " 

“My mirerable son!" groaned Mr. Shelbourne. “In 
pity tell me — what has the wretched boy done or said. Has 
he insulted you — has he ? " 

Mrs. North turned upon him with flashing eyes. 

“ Your son ! " she repeated, with a bitter sneer. “That 
farce has ended. Its motive is incomprehensible to me. 
It was as shallow as sinful. Your son 1 Give the creature 
some other name. Your son ! Hypocrite ! " and she 


THE CUBAN HEIRESS, 


lOI 


swept from the porch, and entering the carriage cried to 
the driver, ‘‘As fast as you can to the depot,” and was 
gone. 

“ What does this mean I ” cried Mr. Shelbourne, as the 
astonished gentlemen stared at each other. “Has Harold 
exhibited some trait of which I never suspected him, or is 
Mrs. North mad.” 

The doctor shook his head. 

“ Incomprehensible ! incomprehensible ! ” he said. “I’d 
see the lad and find out. I say, Dick, what’s the mat- 
ter?” 

Dick was staring with wide open eyes at a patch of moon- 
light which illuminated a spot of the garden, just beyond 
the deep shadows of a laburnum. 

“ Nothing,” said Dick ; “it was fancy, I suppose.” 

“ What was fancy ? ” asked the doctor. 

But Richard would not satisfy him. The truth was that 
a moment before he had seen a female figure, hooded and 
shawled, standing in that patch of light, waving a white 
kerchief with a gesture that seemed to say “Farewell.” 

The outline of the form was not to be mistaken. It was 
the mysterious lady of “ The Pines.” 

Something whispered to hirri that she had left that place 
forever ; that then and there they parted. For a brief mo- 
ment he sat quite still, overwhelmned by the thought ; the 
next dashed into the garden. But neither among the tan- 
gled bushes, nor wandering where the roses bedewed the 
air with fragrance, nor down by the blue water side, could 
he find sign or token of the mysterious maiden, or of any 
other living soul. 


CHAPTER XXI. 

A LOST HEIR AS WELL AS A LOST HEIRESS. 

By the time he had returned from his fruitless search the 
whole house was in commotion. Lights danced in every 
room, and every one beneath the roof was searching for 
Master Harold, who was nowhere to be found. He had 


102 


THE CUBAN HEIRESS, 


positively been in the drawing-room when Mrs. North en- 
tered. Sam, the waiter, declared that he had seen him 
leave the apartment and enter his own room, but that was 
the last known of him. 

At first it had been supposed that, having offended Mrs. 
North, he feared his father’s anger, and had secreted him- 
self ; but now grave fears were entertained for his safety. 

The servants were full of horrible fancies. 

He’s murdered for his gold watch,” said Sam. 

He’s drowned, poor lamb. They’d ought ter a watched 
him better,” said cook. 

‘^He’s a bangin’,” blubbered the housemaid. 
knowed he’d be druv to it.” 

We shall find him all blood somewheres,” said Sam. 

What do you think, Mr. Coachman? ” 

It’s my belafe he’s cut and run,” said Barney. 

The last surmise, as the most original, was communicated 
to Mr. Shelbourne. He summoned the coachman to his 
side at once. 

So you think Master Harold has run away ? ” he said. 

Yis, yer honor.”* 

^ ^ And why ? ’ ’ 

Well,” said Barney, scratching his head, ‘‘ it’s hard 
accounting for the ways o’ them innocents. Ye see he 
likely wanted liberty ; them does as can’t use it invariable. 
I’d be looking at the depot ; they know him most likely ; 
anyway, yez can describe him. He’s not in the house, 
that’s sartin.” 

He may be right,” said Mr. Shelbourne. Barney, 
saddle a horse ; and I know you will go with me, Dick. 
Another for this young gentleman. Doctor, I know you 
will remain here and do what you can if that unhappy son 
of mine returns. Of all things keep him from leaving the 
house if you find him secreted about it. I am tender on 
the subject of an open exposure of his imbecility and want 
of filial affection.” 

^'Yes, yes,” said the doctor, **But I think Barney is 
right ; Harold has run away^ poor fellow. He was afraid 
of the reverend gentleman.” 

Mr. Shelbourne paced the piazza in great agitation, and 
Richard watched him with sympathetic glances. 


THE CUBAN HEIRESS, 


103 


Soon the horses came to the gate, and the two mounted 
and galloped off toward the depot, which they reached in 
half an hour. 

There they found the office quite empty of passengers, 
and a tall gentleman reading the newspaper, with his hat 
on, and an air of being at ease, while a porter in a red shirt 
smoked a short pipe beside the door. 

To him Mr. Shelbourne addressed himself. 

Is the evening train for New York in yet? 

Half an hour ago, sir,” said the porter. 

Had it many passengers to take up here.” 

‘‘No, sir; only three. Wait a bit, four; three women 
folks and one man.” 

‘ ‘ Can you describe the man ? ’ * 

“ No, sir. Lost anything? Burglar p’raps, sir? ” 

“ No. I am anxious about some one.” 

“ P’raps Mr. Brush can tell you. Walk in, sir.” 

Into the office Mr. Shelbourne walked at once, followed 
by Richard. At his entrance the official arose and bowed. 

“ Good evening, squire. Hope you didn’t mean to go 
down in the train. You’re too late if you did.” 

“No, sir, I did not. But I have important reasons for 
desiring to know who were taken up here.” 

“Have, hey? Well, squire. I’ll tell you. Jest four. 
Three of them waited here a spell, and one come in a 
hurry at the very nick o’ time. Fust place, that old nurse 
from your house, Mrs. what’s her name? ” 

“ Yes,” said Mr. Shelbourne. “ Go on.” 

“ Next a tall lady in black, came in the hotel carriage ; 
blue eyes, fair hair, and a kind of better than vou be air.” 

“Mrs. North. Well, sir?” 

“Then a little hunchbacked gentleman — walks with a 
cane. Good little soul — Pratt’s uncle. Leave him some- 
thing when he dies.” 

“ Yes, sir. Well, the fourth ? 

“ The prettiest girl I ever saw.” 

A girl ! And there was no one else ? ” 

“ No ; not a soul. I’d take my oath to that. But I vow, 
I never saw such a beauty. Dressed somehow odd, too ; 
and in an awful pucker.” 


104 


THE CUBAN HEIRESS. 


'^What did she look like?’' asked Richard, in alow 
voice. 

Nothing I ever saw,” said the man. Dark as a gipsy, 
with such eyes, and a rich silk dress, under a common hood 
and shawl. You never saw such a beauty, sir.” 

We are wasting time, Dick,” said Mr. Shelbourne. I 
am obliged to you, sir. Come, my boy, Harold was not 
on the train.” 

^^One moment,” pleaded Dick. ‘^Pray, had the lady 
any baggage with her ? ’ ’ 

A small bundle,” said the man. 

How did she come ? ” 

On foot, by herself.” 

And she had dark eyes and hair ? ” 

Like ink.” 

And a pretty figure.” 

Angelic. I say, sir, you seem to know her.” 

‘‘Come, Dick, come!” cried Mr. Shelbourne, already 
in the saddle. 

“Yes, sir,” answered Dick. “Only an instant more. 
I do know her, I believe. Tell me about her.” 

“ She was frightened, and had been crying. Her dress 
was fine, and her outside things like a servant’s. And an- 
other queer thing — when she was stepping into the car, 
something caught her shawl and pulled it off. I picked it 
up, but not before I had seen that the dress she wore was 
not that which ladies wear to travel in. It was made low in 
the neck and short in the sleeves, like a ball dress, and 
would have stood alone, it was so rich. She had the 
plumpest neck and arms, and on one of ’em, jest above the 
elbow, a mark as big as a quarter, rose red, and the shape 
of a star.” 

“It is she; I do know her,” cried Richard, in a great 
state of excitement. ‘ ‘ I would give the world to follow 
her.” 

“ Have to wait until morning ! ” said the man, with a 
grin. 

“ Richard ! ” called Mr. Shelbourne, and the bewildered 
boy obeyed. 

He was right. She it was who had waved her kerchief 
to him in the garden. The mysterious lady had left “ The 


THE CUBAN HEIRESS. 


105 

Pines; ” and where was Harold ? Had they gone together? 
Was her fate actually twined with his ? Was Alfred right? 
No, no, no, anything but that. And yet, how probable it 
seemed. 

Tho only explanation of her presence — the only explana- 
tion of her departure, was that her life was in some way 
linked with that of Harold Shelbourne. 


CHAPTER XXII. 

IVIAN PROPOSES AND GOD DISPOSES. 

The cars were whirling over the road at as many miles an 
hour as was thought necessary to make up for loss of time. 
The placid passengers were nodding, chatting, or nibbling 
something from baskets or lunch boxes, not one of them, 
perhaps, guessing that unless they passed a certain point in 
the road by a given time a collision with another train was 
inevitable. The conductor knew it, though, and the en- 
gineer and the brakemen, and took it easily, as men do 
matters of life and death in these United States. 

There were passengers from every place along the road. 
Those from Carltonville having entered last sat together at 
one end of a car. Fresher from the outer air than the 
others, they were all broad awake. 

Mrs. North, indignantly pondering on whatever had 
awakened her wrath at The Pines,” sat bolt upright, hold- 
ing her small traveling bag in both gloved hands, and look- 
ing as much offended and as greatly shocked as was possi- 
ble to a prim minister’s wife of forty. 

The rich hunchbacked gentleman was devouring sand- 
wiches prepared by his niece with all the care of an ex- 
pectant heiress desirous of winning favor, and congratulat- 
ing himself on having fallen in with a train of cars the 
managers of which had proper spirit and flew over the rails, 
instead of creeping ; and Hepsibah Drew and a beautiful 
girl in an oddly made rich silk dress and coarse hood and 
shawl, sat close together. 

At first they only exchanged meaning glances — at last, 


io6 


THE CUBAN HE/BESS, 


after convincing themselves that all in the car were stran- 
gers, the girl bent forward and whispered to the old woman. 

Safe ! safe at last ! Ah ! I could go upon my knees 
and thank Heaven. ^ The Pines ’ are miles behind us 
now.’^ 

And we don't know what new trouble we're going to," 
whispered Hepsibah. 

The horrid deception is over, and I dread nothing," 
replied the girl. 

‘^Ah! poor thing, you don't know — you don’t know," 
said Hepsibah. What did you bring with you? " 

A few old garments. Have I not acted the thief long 
enough? Only these and what little money I had about 
me. There will be fine searching for Harold Shelbourne 
to-morrow." 

Hush ! hush ! " plead the nurse. 

Why, are you afraid they will find him ? " 

Oh, deary, don't, don't, deary ; some one may hear." 

Never fear. But I have not told you what happened 
after you had gone." 

No, tell me." 

^^You see that tall lady in black, sitting bolt upright — 
looking very much shocked ? " 

^^Yes; well?" 

<^She is Mrs. North. She stopped at ‘The Pines’ to 
take Master Harold home with her. The boy, not being 
accountable for his actions, refused to go. You know he 
had a motive for not being hurried off in custody to-night." 

“ Yes, yes ! " 

“ So my good lady kindly hurried him up, to exert her 
influence over him. She did, indeed." 

“Well, well?" 

“ And finding the cub was sulking in the drawing-room, 
entered. That woman has sharp eyes; she is a very 
woman, Hepsibah. The secret that has puzzled two men 
and baffled all the rest of the world ; the secret Dr. Raw- 
don and Mr. Shelbourne never guessed ; that Richard 
Rawdon never dreamt of ; was hers at once." 

‘ ‘ What do you mean ? ’ ’ 

“ She found Harold Shelbourne out." 

“ Oh ! great heavens ! " 


THE CUBAN HEIRESS, 10/ 

And swept out of the house after giving Mr. Shel- 
bourne a piece of lifer mind, but no explanation.” 

‘‘ Then he does not know ” 

He is as much in the dark as ever.” 

But he will ; he will ! ” 

^ ^ Perhaps ; not yet, however. They were searching 
' The Pines ’ house and grounds for that blessed Harold, 
who has insulted or offended the clergyman’s wife in the 
most mysterious manner. I heard it suggested that the 
river should be dragged. Do you think it is possible : barely 
possible that he might be there, lying at the bottom? ” 

‘‘ Don’t ! don’t ! ” 

Oh, I’m in such a mad, merry mood to-night. DonT 
be angry. I’m free ! free ! free ! I could shout and laugh ! 
Oh, the awful slavery I have fled from ! But the shackles 
are broken. Hepsibah? ” 

Well, dear.” 

^‘It seems wrong, and yet so funny; stern, cold, grim 
Mr. Shelbourne is supposed to be a gay Lothario. How 
that prim lady is thinking of him. Her eyebrows meet, 
she scowls, and purses up her mouth. There’ll be a com- 
motion at ^ The Pines ’ soon. A lost heir and a lost heir- 
ess. Some will say that they have run away together ; that 
the palm has twined its branches with the pine.” 

‘‘ Oh, deary, you frighten me.” 

'‘Do I? Well, I’ll be still; still as death. How do I 
look?” 

" Beautiful, deary.” 

"Surely, in this old hood. Am I flushed? I feel 
feverish.” 

" Your cheeks are like roses.” 

" I must be calm. I dare not be ill. I’ll try to sleep. 
May I put my head on your shoulder ? ” 

" Certainly, deary.” 

" Oh, me ! oh, me ! how it throbs. Hepsibah, what are 
you going to say to them ? ” 

" To whom ? ” 

" To those who are anxious to meet the Cuban heiress.” 

"I’ll say I found you; no, that Davy brought you to 
me, and that I’ve been with you all my life. I’ll show ’em 


io8 


THE CUBAN HEIRESS, 


the little petticoat and the mark on your arm» That's all I 
can do.” 

You shall live with me always.” 

^ ^ Ah ! I shall live nowhere long. ’ ' 

Years and years. There, nurse, Til talk no more but 
go to sleep. Don’t you like me as well as Harold ? I’m 
sure I am prettier.” 

You’ll drive me crazy, child.” 

The girl shut her lips determinedly and closed her eyes. 
Soon the feverish restlessness passed away and she slum- 
bered. Hepsibah nodded also. The passengers were almost 
all asleep. The engineer, the brakemen, the conductor, 
were broad awake. Steam was being crowded on ; anxious 
eyes were cast southward. 

I s^ay, Jem, how many minutes to the bend ? ” 

Five.” 

It will take ten.” 

Then God help Patty and the babies.” 

Faster ! faster ! One minute — three — faster yet ! Great 
Heaven have mercy ! What are those red eyes ? What 
comes thundering down the track? A demon! — a horri- 
ble, crashing, crushing demon !— the other train 1 and they 
have not reached the bend ; and never will 1 

For the next minute the two trains have met; have 
rushed into one another as though friends were embracing, 
and there is a horrible tumult, and smoke, and steam, and 
flame, and crushed iron, and wood, and human flesh, and 
blood lying in a hideous mass under the white moon. 

It was in a lonely sort of a country place that the acci- 
dent had happened, and, for some time, no aid came. At 
last, those uninjured managed to call the inmates of the 
nearest tavern, and from thence the news spread fast. 
When the sun arose they were still dragging dead and liv- 
ing from under the broken body of the mad iron horse. 

Want of forethought and two odd glasses of whisky had 
made a good many orphans and widows that day. 

Twenty dead men were spread upon the grass. Half a 
dozen bodies were found in fragments, and the living were 
so maimed for the most part, that they had better been 
dead also. But some had escaped without mark for scar. 


THE CUBAN HEIRESS. IO9 

Among others, a young woman and an old one. They lay 
senseless in each other’s arms. 

Not dead ! If injured, internally not outwardly. The 
old woman wore an old-fashioned black bonnet and small 
shawl. The girl had under her coarse outer gajrments a 
dress of rich brocade. 

Next to these they found a dead body, a lady dressed in 
black, her fingers stiffened about a small traveling bag, 
marked on the silver plate of the lock Amelia North.” 

Whatever she had discovered, Mrs. North would never 
have the power to tell in this world with a living tongue. 

As soon as the news could be spread, special trains came 
to the spot to bring the friends of the injured parties. 
From below Mr. North arrived, grief-stricken and broken- 
hearted, and almost at the same moment the train from 
Carltonville brought the party from ‘^The Pines,” Mr. 
Shel bourne, Richard and Dr. Rawdon. 

They did what they could for the unhappy clergyman, 
whose agony rendered him almost incapable of attending 
his duty of conveying his wife’s remains to her late home, 
and then sought the couch on which old Hepsibah still lay 
in the little tavern. She had never opened her eyes or ap- 
peared for one moment even partially conscious. 

Mr. Shelbourne gave directions to the hostess as to her 
care, and informing them as well as the physician in attend- 
ance, that as an old and attached servant she held a claim 
upon him, and that he would be responsible for every ex- 
pense, turned to examine the other sufferers. It seemed 
even yet possible that Harold might be amongst them. 

To his relief, the dead as well as the living beings were 
total strangers to him. No youth, in the slightest degree 
resembling the unhappy Harold, lay on these couches or 
upon the grass, where so many ghastly objects were covered 
by clean white linen. At every step he feared to look upon 
the countenance of his unloved and unloving son, but the 
pang was spared him. Wherever the lad had flown he cer- 
tainly was not a passenger in this ill-fated train. 

As he was turning away the physician of the little town 
stopped him. 

'' You are from Carltonville, sir? ” he said. 

Yes, sir,” 


no 


THE CUBAN HEIRESS. 


Then, perhaps, you can assist us in identifying an in- 
jured person from that place. All the others have been 
claimed. The people at the station who came down re- 
membered as having entered the car, but no one knows her. 
This way. She’s as pretty a creature as I ever saw.” 

Opening a little door, the three men stood beside a small 
rude bed, occupied at ordinary times by one of the serv- 
ants of the tavern. 

There, on the course but clean pillows, lay the most 
beautiful face, pallid as death. Its black hair clustering 
over the temples, its lips pressed together as if in some mo- 
ment of agony. One arm had dropped from beneath the 
coverlid, and was exposed to view from the shoulder down. 
It was wondrously shapely — a dimple for an elbow, a soft 
slope from thence to the wrist ; but, above that elbow, was 
a rose-red, star-shaped mark, vividly distinct in the unusual 
pallor of the transparent skin. 

I do not know her,” said Mr. Shelbourne. 

'‘Nor I,” said the doctor. 

But, suddenly from behind there came a cry, a low ex- 
clamation of fear and horror, and Richard brushed passed 
them and knelt beside the couch. 

"I do ! ” he said. ‘‘Ah, beautiful, beautiful creature. 
I have found you at last ; and you are dead — quite dead ! 
Never a smile for me — never a touch of your dear hand? 
Dead ! dead ! dead ! Oh, yes, I know her ! Give me her 
body, that I may bury it ! No strange hands shall touch 
thee, sweetest ! I promised to aid thee, and this is all I can 
do for thee ! ” 

'' Is the boy mad? ” cried the doctor. " Dick, what do 
you know of this girl ? — who is not dead, by the way. Have 
you really ever seen her before ? ’ ’ 

Richard made no answer 

" Not dead I ” he murmured; "not dead ! Dh, thank 
Heaven ! But she looks like one just dying ! She is too 
near Heaven ; we cannot bring her back 1 ” 

This time Mr. Shelbourne touched him on the arm. 

" Explain yourself,” he said rather sternly. " Be a man. 
If this young lady is a friend of yours let me know it in 
so many words. Has she friends ? Who are they ? ” 

"She told me she was friendless,” answered Richard, 


THE CUBAN HEIRESS. 1 1 1 

scarcely conscious of what she said. Ah, why did she 
not trust me ? I might have saved her. ’ * 

‘‘The boy has certainly taken leave of his senses,” said 
the doctor. 

“Richard,” said Mr. Shelbourne, still more sternly than 
was his wont when addressing this, his youthful Favorite, 
“ it is your duty to explain yourself. Who and what is this 
lady, and what do you know of her? ” 

Richard lifted his head and looked at him. 

“ Her name I do not know,” he said. “ Before I answer 
other questions tell me, I pray you, whether she will live ! ” 

“ That is impossible,” said the doctor. 

“ Utterly, until some change takes place,” said the other 
physician. 

“ Then, sir,” said Richard, “ I can only say this: What 
I know of this lady I have promised to keep inviolably se- 
cret. If she dies I will reveal it; if she lives, only at her 
bidding. There is a mystery about her, a suspicious one ; 
yet I trust her. I feel that whatever it may be, she is the 
wronged and not the wrong-doer. I love her ! I adore her ! 
and I have vowed to be her knight and champion ! I will 
tell the tale when that lady’s pale lips command its utter- 
ance, or when they are closed forever.” 

The other m.en regarded the ardent youth with astonish- 
ment. Mr. Shelbourne seemed a little flushed and angry, 
but a suspicious moisture bedewed tbe eyes of the doctor. 

“ I was romantic myself in my youth,” he said ; “ very 
romantic. Ah, the boy is like me after all ! No matter, 
Dick ; keep your secret. There’s no harm in it. I’ll trust 
you.” 

Mr. Shelbourne said nothing, but turned and left the 
room, as though his part in the scene were over. The doc- 
tor lingered. 

“Cheer up, Dick,” he said. “ You’ll tell me all about 
it some day ; and, mind you, if she gets well and is the 
right kind of a girl, no matter how poor, I shan’t say no to 
a match. Here, landlady, my nephew knows this young 
lady ; take good care of her, I haven’t much about me, but 
this will be enough for present expenses until her folks are 
told. Of course she has folks, Dick. Now, my boy, come 
along. Shelbourne is on his high horse. Of course you 


II2 


THE CUBAN HEIRESS. 

couldn’t let out your boy-nonsense before him ; wait 
we are alone. You shall come down again with me il 
like,” and he hurried the bewildered boy away. ^ 

At first Richard resisted, then some new motive made 
him just as anxious to reach Carlton ville as he had been to 
remain. At the depot he left his companions suddenly, and 
betook himself to Alfred Fairfield’s residence. 

I have no time to lose,” he said. She is at P — I fear, 
dying ! ” 

‘‘You mean the lady of ‘ The Pines?’ ” 

“Whom else could I mean? You have heard of that 
fearful railroad accident? ” 

“ Certainly,” 

“She had left * The Pines’ that night. I found her 

amongst the injured at a little tavern at P , entirely 

alone, deserted, friendless. Alfred, you remember our 
compact? ” 

“ I do. Could I forget it ? ” 

“Alfred, we must be her friends, her knights, her pro- 
tectors.” 

“ We will. My hand on it.’* 

“ At present, if she lives, she is safe ; but what steps are 
to be taken ? What must we do ? ” 

“I will go at once to P ” said Alfred, “represent 

myself as her brother, and claim a brother’s right to guard 
her. ’ ’ 

“ And I? ” said Richard. 

“ Can you not accompany me ? ” 

“Yes ; but I shall awaken suspicion.” 

“I will put an end to that. I will request your com- 
pany on a fishing excursion.” 

“Ah ! famous ! ” 

“There will be no objection. We shall leave together, 
with the necessary apparatus. These we sha,ll abandon 

and make our way to P . There if she lives, she shall 

find two men devoted to her service; two brothers, who 
will guard her with her life’s blood.” 

“ God bless you for the words ! She shall I ” 

“Richard, remember our compact! Friends forever! 
Yet you love her very dearly ! ” 

“I do! I do! ” 



THE CUBAN HEIRESS, 


II3 


“ And I adore her ! 

‘‘Alfred ! Yet stay. You are right; we are rivals, but 
none the less brothers ! To-morrow, then.’^ 

“To-morrow I will be with you, and we will fly to her. 
Wait one moment ; has any news been heard of Harold 
Shelbourne ?’' 

“ None.^^ 

“ She did not leave ‘ The Pines ’ with him then? ** 

“That is impossible.” 

“ Yet she may have been about to meet him.” 

“You make my blood boil.” 

“Ah, Richard, you cannot doubt that it is possible?” 

“Possible; but, Alfred, not probable.” 

“Why?” 

“ She does not like the little wretch.” 

“ How do you know? ” 

“ She told me so.” 

“ Told you so ? ” 

“Yes. I have let the secret betray itself. I met her two 
weeks ago. I have spoken to her. I promised not to re- 
veal the act, but you are her champion also. You have a 
right to know.” 

And Richard narrated the details of that interview in 
the old library, the lady’s every word, and look, and ac- 
tion. 

Alfred pondered deeply. 

“We will know the truth,” he said. “ We will cer- 
tainly know the truth if she lives.” 

And with these words, and a lingering grasp of the hands, 
the friends parted. 

There was no news of Harold all that day. The village 
was scoured, the ferries and depots watched, active meas- 
ures taken, rewards offered, and still no one could be found 
who had seen the youth leave “ The Pines,” or who had 
met him in any part of the neighborhood. 

Mr. Shelbourne’s departure was delayed. Indeed it 
seemed impossible to tell when he might leave “The 
Pines.” Harold must be found ere matters could be 
finally settled, and as yet not the slightest clue was ob- 
tained to his whereabouts. 

On the morrow Alfred Faifireld called with his invita- 

8 


1 14 


THE CUBAN HEIRESS. 


tion to a fishing excursion, and the two young men left to- 
gether. 

They reached P about noon, and proceeded at once 

to the little tavern. Some of the injured persons re- 
mained there still, a few had left this world for a better, 
others were so far convalescent as to have been removed by 
their friends. Old Hepsibah was still apparently unconscious 
of all that passed around her, and was watched constantly 
by her nurse, who declared her sinking fast. 

All this Richard and Alfred heard from the landlord on 
the porch, ere they could receive an answer to their query in 
regard to the mysterious lady on whom both their minds 
were fixed. When at last they contrived to make the land- 
lord listen as well as talk, he stood for a moment puzzled, 
scratching his head. 

‘‘You don^t mean the minister’s wife that was killed? ” 

“ No, no. A beautiful young lady.” 

“Two or three ladies have been taken home. Let me 
see, my wife knows all about it. Here, Jane.” 

At the call the landlady came running to the door. 

“ Ah ! ” she said, themoment her eyes fell upon Richard. 
“I thought you’d come. You’ll be glad to hear your young 
lady is nicely. Coming on quite smart. Her uncle took 
her away yesterday.” 

“ Her uncle,” cried Richard. “ Taken away ! Impos- 
sible ! impossible ! ” 

“ Well, it happened in the oddest way,” said the land- 
lady. “ There have been a lot of folks down here to iden- 
tify friends. Amongst others a lawyer, a handsome, mid- 
dle-aged gentleman, who came to see about a clerk of his, 
a young man named Thomas Burridge. Well, the young 
fellow wasn’t hurt to speak of — a bruise or two, that was all, 
and had gone home to his parents. So the lawyer, mighty 
glad to hear it, sat down to have a bite of dinner and a 
glass of ale. He was quite an affable gentleman, and 
chatted away the while. 

‘ ‘ ‘ Many in the house ? ’ says he. 

“ ‘ Well,’ says I, ‘ more than I like to see, poor things. 
I’m very sorry for ’em. But most have their friends with 
’em. The one that’s the prettiest is a young lady, quite 
alone, and wandering in her mind, the loveliest thing I ever 


. THE CUBAN HEIRESS, 


IIS 

saw, I think. One gentleman knew her, but nobody else. 
If 'twasn’t for her good face I should think she wasn’t just 
what she ought to be. But she looks like an angel.’ 

‘ Can you describe her? ’ says he. 

‘ Yes,’ says I ; ‘she’s small and very dark. Her eyes 
are black, her cheeks beautiful, though that’s partly fever, 
and there’s a mark on her arm I should think she’d be 
known by, a red mark, for all the world like a star.’ 

“ ‘ Like a star,’ says he. ‘ Where is it, on the left arm, 
above the elbow ? ’ 

“ ‘ Yes,’ says I. ‘ Why, you don’t know her ? ’ says I. 

“ ‘ I do, I think,’ says he. ‘This is astonishing, how 
things come to us when we least expect them.’ 

“ ‘ Lor,’ says I, ‘ and the young gentleman was so anx- 
ious about her. He’ll be very glad.’ 

“ ‘ Let me see the young lady,’ says he. 

“ So I took him up. She was in a fever, tossing and 
talking to herself. He looked at her, and then muttered, 
‘ Cuban all over.’ I couldn’t tell what he meant. The 
young lady arn’t a Cuban, is she? ” 

“ I think she is,” said Richard. 

“That was it then. Well, he looked at her arm, and ex- 
amined the star-shaped mark, and then spoke to her. I 
think he asked whether she knew him 1 At that she started 
up and looked at him. 

“ ‘ Don’t touch me, says she. ‘ I’ll never go back to the 

— the ’ What was the name ? Some house or place 

she must have meant.” 

“The Pines?” asked Richard. 

“Yes, sir, that’s it — ‘ The Pines ; ’ and says the gentle- 
man, ‘There, there, you never shall.’ Says she, ‘ No one 
can make me; I’m an heiress.’ 

“Then he smiled to himself and said, ‘You’re right 
there. ‘It’s best to humor her,’ said he to me. ‘ If the 
doctors say she can be moved I’ll trouble you to make my 
niece ready to go with me to-night.’ ” 

“ His niece? ” 

“Yes, sir, that’s what he said. Well, the young lady 
seemed much better after that, quite quiet ; and when she 
went away she looked so well, and laid nicely asleep in the 


ii6 


THE CUBAN HEIRESS. 


carriage among the pillows. No doubt you’ll find her quite 
recovered, sir.” 

<< No doubt,” said Richard, dreamily; but as I do not 
know this uncle of hers, will you be kind enough to tell me 
his name ?” 

That’s it,” said the landlady, pointing to a card stuck 
in the chimney glass. say, John, hand it here, will 
you.” 

The landlord obeyed, and the young men darted forward. 
Richard caught the card, and Alfred read over his shoulder 
the name, Harvey Grier.” 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

THE HEIRESS FOUND. 

For more than twenty years had Harvey Grier searched 
for the missing child, or for some proof of her death ; with 
the acuteness of a lawyer and skill that should have done 
credit to a detective, with a certain perseverance peculiar to 
himself, he had endeavored by bribes and stratagems and 
deep laid plots to fathom the mystery. Nor was his activ- 
ity to be wondered at, for never was lawyer so richly feed. 
The resources from which the gold of the parties interested 
was drawn seemed inexhaustible. Of late the letters had 
been dated ‘‘New York,” and as the days passed on the 
most magnificent promises were made in case of success. 
The lawyer had discovered that the writer was a Mrs. Ber- 
tram, residing at Hotel, but what she looked like, 

and whether young or old, it was impossible to discover, as 
no one save a servant woman, who spoke broken Spanish, 
was ever visible. 

Urged on by these anonymous letters and plenteous fees, 
Harvey Grier had spent twenty long years in secret search. 
These proving fruitless, he had resorted to advertisements, 
with equal ill success. He felt confident that the heiress 
was still living ; the chain of evidence indicated that fact 
clearly. But the double secret in which her disappearance 
was involved seemed unfathomable. 


THE CUBAN HEIRESS. 


II7 

And now, by means of the purest accident, the lost heir- 
ess was discovered. The star on her arm, her Cuban fea- 
tures, all the mystery which surrounded her, proved her 
identity at once. 

Now that he had her in a place of safety, he was over- 
joyed, and without delay wrote to communicate his success 
to his anonymous correspondent. An answer was received 
begging him to bring the young lady at once to Mrs. Ber- 
tram, at Hotel, and by the time it reached him his 

beautiful charge was fast recovering. Indeed, she was so 
well that the next day Mr. Grier sought an interview to ac- 
quaint her with the fact that her relatives was aware of her 
existence and anxious to receive her. 

Instead of expressing astonishment, the young lady re- 
ceived him in a manner that, had he not been the most 
self-possessed of mortals, would have confused him. As it 
was, he could scarcely resolve upon the proper course of 
action. He cleared his throat and began : 

Miss . Excuse me ; what shall I call you ? ” 

You know best, sir,” said the young lady. My real 
name is an enigma to*me. As a Cuban heiress, doubtless, 
it is something worth hearing, Mr. Grier.” 

Harvey Grier started. 

‘‘You know the reason of the interest I take in you, it 
appears ? ” he said. 

“ I know you are a legal gentleman, Mr. Grier, and that 
you have been searching for me for many years. You have 
seen the red star on my arm, and I have here something I 
have hidden about my person for a long time ; the garment 
which you describe in your advertisement. 

She took from the stand at her side a parcel and handed 
it the lawyer. 

He unfolded it. It was a petticoat of white merino, 
made for the youngest of infants, fastened by silken strings 
and embroidered in a magnificent pattern of leaves and 
grapes in scarlet. Among the leaves were skillfully wrought 
the letters “ D. J. W.” 

“ There is the proof,” said the girl, quietly. “I pre- 
sume the counterpart of that garment never existed.^ ^ 

“You are prepared to meet your relatives?” said the 
lawyer. 


ii8 


THE CUBAN HEIRESS. 


Yes, at any moment. I am growing quite strong. 

In an hour, then, I shall call a carriage.” 

^^Yes, if you please.” 

The lawyer hesitated; ' 

You will have no aversion to telling me why you have 
concealed your existence so carefully, or who has re- 
strained you from claiming your name and inheritance? 
Explanations of this kind will be required by your rela- 
tives.” 

I shall never give them.” 

^ ‘ Madame ! ’ ^ 

Hear me, once for all, Mr. Grier,” said the girl ; they 
may discard or receive me, as they like, although I know I 
am the person they have searched for so earnestly, but not 
for a kingdom, not for my life, will I, either to you or to 
them, offer the slightest clue to my past life. I was aban- 
doned. Chance or fate ; or, I may better say, God’s 
mighty hand, has brought me back to them. So let it 
stand. I will never tell by what name I have been called, 
where I have lived, or at what place, nor why I have never 
answered those inquiries which I have so long been aware 
of — never while life lasts; the secret shall die with me.” 

Suspicion ” began Mr. Grier. 

Aye, suspicion will attach itself to me,” said the girl. 
‘Ht may ; I care not. My lips are sealed.” 

And Harvey Grier, anxious and perplexed, bowed as in 
assent, and waited the arrival of the carriage, with a fear 
that the wilful creature might even yet escape him. 

She made no such attempt, however; and was ready 
when he once more entered her apartment. 

A lovelier creature he had never seen, and, lawyer as he 
was, he trusted in her purity, and, old as he was, his heart 
beat faster as her hand touched his arm. 

Together they drove to the hotel, and inquired for Mrs. 
Bertram. 

The inquiry brought to the reception parlor a servant 
woman, who, in broken Spanish, requested that the lady 
and gentleman would follow her, and leading the way 
entered an apartment on an upper floor. 

There the light was subdued by curtains and shades, that, 
for a moment, they could but discern a form, seated at the 


THE CUBAN HEIRESS, 


1 19 

further end of the room, and heard a faint, shrill voice 
uttering exclamations of thanksgivings in the Spanish lan- 
guage. 

At last, hower, they became accustomed to the dimness, 
and saw the figure in the chair more plainly. 

It was that of a very, very old woman, her dark face a 
mass of wrinkles, and her hair snow white. She was slightly 
bent, and her hands, which held a staff between them, 
trembled ; but these hands were small and loaded with 
jewels, and upon the black lace at her throat a diamond, of 
immense size, flashed and flickered. 

It was the face of one who had been a beauty. Eyes that 
had glittered more than the jewels she wore, long, before. 
A face which awakened strange fancies, and made one 
think of ghosts arisen to walk the earth. A century must 
have well nigh passed over that head. She was the oldest 
human being the lawyer had ever seen. Awe stricken, he 
looked at her and marveled. 

Suddenly, this strange being stretched her arms toward 
the girl, and cried : 

‘‘Dolores! Dolores! Oh, I need no proof! it is her 
mother come to life again ! The hair, the eyes ! Ah ! 
come to me ! No, stop ! I want proof! I will have proof ! 
They shall have no reason to say I am in my dotage ! The 
star-mark; the garment the babe wore; let me see them.” 

The girl advanced ; kneeling before the old woman she 
bared her arm. On its whiteness lay a rose-red star. 

Dolores ! ” said the old woman again. 

Then unfolding something she had hidden until then 
beneath her shawl, they lay across the Cuban lady's knee, 
a skirt, embroidered in scarlet, in a pattern of grapes and 
leaves ; and then, without a word, was clasped into that 
aged bosom, and sobbed over and caressed. At last the old 
woman lifted her eyes. 

“ I cannot doubt,” she said ; “I have seen the star ; I 
have seen the work of my own hands. There never was 
another garment like the one lying there. This is ray 
great-grandchild : the daughter of my grand-daughter — 
Dolores Inez Bertram. You have given me back my 
treasure. You shall be made rich for it. When I, who am 
past a hundred, speak it, it is taking a vow before God. 


120 


THE CUBAN HEIRESS. 


Do not doubt me ; but give me a pledge that you will never 
tell what I shall tell you. This is the child of my grand- 
daughter. She was a wilful thing. A beauty amongst the 
beautiful Cuban girls. So her mother was before her ; so 
was I. We had married strangers and had English names. 
Mine is Bertram. Dolores’ mother was left a widow early, 
and came home to ‘ The Palms ’ — we named it so from the 
trees around it — to live with her children. We were ex- 
tremely wealthy and greatly respected ; and Dolores was 
our pet, our treasure ; but she was wilful. There came to 
the place a man from New York, name Wilford. A hand- 
some, dissipated, bad, bad man. He contrived to become 
acquainted with Dolores, and courted her. Her mother 
forbade him the house, and she ran away and married him. 

*‘Ah, me! the young are always wilful, and she ran 
away with him, thinking to be forgiven. I’d have done it, 
for I loved her dearly. But her mother was stern — a cold, 
stern woman. So to her letters there was no answer, and 
we heard no more until a stranger from New York brought 
us tidings. Her husband was a villain, and had married 
her for her money, and when he found her mother would 
not forgive her he forsook her — went off with another wo- 
man and deserted her. 

‘‘ Then her mother’s heart softened, and she came here. 
For months she could not find her, but a last hearing that a 
beautiful creature had been found wandering crazy on a 
country road, she went to look at her. It was Dolores, 
and she did not know her, for her mind was quite gone. So 
she brought her back to Cuba, to our home ; and she lived 
only a few weeks ; but before she died she told us how she 
had had a child — a daughter — and driven quite wild by her 
husband’s desertion, had been about to drown herself and it 
with her, when a watchman stopped her. How after that 
she felt madness coming upon her, and thought friends 
were dragging her away, and could remember nothing 
more. But before that everything seemed plain. She told 
us of the mark on the arm, of its age, of the name of the 
village, and its situation, and that it wore a skirt I had 
wrought for her in her own babyhood. Then she said, 
‘ find my child for Dolores’ sake,’ and died with her head 
upon my arm. 


THE CUBAN HEIRESS. 


I2I 


We were broken-hearted, for our darling had been our. 
treasure and we resolved to find her child ; but we were 
proud, my daughter and her son prouder than I, and we 
resolved to keep our secret. They, as you know, strove all 
their lives for one object. They died unsuccessful. I, the 
oldest, have outlived them and their pride. In my old age 
I took this long, long journey to be near the man who was 
still searching for the child of my Dolores. And God has 
’ blessed me ! She is found ! I clasp her to my bosom ! 
And now tell me who has hidden her from us ? ’* 

‘‘ Forgive me,’^ she said ; I venerate you, I love you, 
but never, never will I reveal the secret of my past life. 
Love me as the daughter of Dolores, accept me as the child 
lost and found again ; but do not ask me what I will never, 
can never tell ! 

At this moment a sound of knocking at the door inter- 
rupted them. The old woman started and gave a low cry. 
The eyes of the young girl turned toward the door, and the 
servant advanced to open it. 

As she did so a gentleman pushed her and entered, des- 
pite her efforts to prevent him. 

It was Richard Rawdon. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

A DEATH AND A CONFESSION. 

He looked at the young girl, and said slowly : 

Old Hepsibah is dying. Hasten if you wish to see her 
alive ! She had sent you a message which I give without 
comprehending. She bade me say, ^ Tell her the secret is 
a secret no more. I will free her from it when I die.’ ” 

The girl burst into tears. 

Take me to her ! ” said she. Take me to her, Rich- 
ard ! ” 

‘ ^ Away from me ? No, no, Dolores ! you will never re- 
turn ! ’ ’ cried the old Cuban lady. 

Dolores knelt at her feet. 

‘‘I swear to return; I vow never to leave you, and to 


122 


THE CUBAN HEIRESS. 


answer you frankly every question you may put to me. 
You hear the message; the secret will be one no longer. 
But Hespibah has been good to me. I must see her ere she 
dies.’’ 

Go, then,” said the old woman. And you, Mr. Grier, 
keep with my darling and bring her back to me.” 

The lawyer looked at the young lady. 

‘^Come,” she said; ‘^you have a right to know all,” 
and he obeyed. 

A carriage stood at the door. The three stepped into it, 
were driven to the railroad depot, and whirled toward Carl- 
tonville. 

All were silent, but the lady spoke to Richard once. 

‘‘How did you discover me ?” she said, and Richard 
whispered : 

“ By the light of love ! I have never lost sight of you. 
Had danger threatened you, I should have been beside you 
to protect you. And when old Hespibah began to call for 
her beautiful girl, and speak of you as having been with 
her at the time of the collision, I knew whom she meant 
and where to find you. Let me ask you one question : Do 
you know anything of Harold Shelbourne ? ” 

“Yes.” 

“ Where is he ? ” 

The lady looked at him for a moment, then cast down 
her eyes. 

“ That miserable boy, that very mockery of manhood, 
will never offend mortal eyes again,” she said. 

“ Is he dead ? ” 

But the lady made no answer, and Richard gazed at 
her in astonishment. A fancy was in his mind — a 
strange, wild fancy, that made him think that he was 
mad. 


In the upper chamber of the little tavern Hepsibah lay 
dying. When those who had obeyed the summons entered 
the room, they saw that plainly. Her eyes were sunken, 
her breath came with an effort. But she had strength left 
to clasp the girl in her arms, and kiss her tenderly. 


THE CUBAN HEIRESS, I23 

^^The end has come,” she said. ‘ ^ My confession must 
be made. Call the others quickly.” 

Dr. Rawdon, who was standing near her, obeyed, and in 
a moment Mr. Shelbourne and Alfred Fairfield were in the 
room. On the former she fixed her dying eyes. 

To you I must speak, sir,” she said. I haven’t long 
to talk, and if I die without confessing I shall never rest. 
I want God’s forgiveness first, but yours next, yours next. 

“ Go back to the night the mistress died, sir, for I must 
begin there. You know you gave me the baby to take care 
of, and I was alone with it for days. The night she died it 
cried, and wailed as it knew it was going to lose its mother. 
To quiet it I gave it some drops, as I thought, but I made 
a mistake, and fed it instead with laudanum. I never knew 
I had done it until I found the child was dead, and then I 
thought I should go mad, partly with grief and partly with 
the dread of punishment and disgrace. So I think I was 
going out of my mind when my brother, Davy Drew, the 
watchman of the town as long as he lived, knocked at the 
door. 

‘‘ I opened it, and he had a poor little baby in his arms. 
Some wretched woman had left it with him and ran away, 
after he’d kept her from drowning herself. The squire’s 
was the place to fetch it first, he thought. But I told him 
your lady was dying, and he couldn’t see you. Then the 
devil at my elbow put it into my head to make him take 
away the poor dead baby, and leave the living one with 
me. 

' No harm,’ said Beelzebub, ^ it’s only a grave one place 
or another, and you’ll make folks happy and save yourself.’ 
So I coaxed Davy, and threatened and cried until I had my 
way ; and he took the dead child to the poorhouse, and I 
kept the poor woman’s, and I thought no living being 
would find me out. But sin overreached itself. When 
everything was so it couldn’t be undone, I found out that 
I’d made the maddest mistake, and done the most awful 
thing, for the baby was a girl. 

A girl ? Great heavens ! ” cried Mr. Shelbourne. 

A girl, and yours was a boy. Well, any one not crazy 
would have confessed then. I didn’t, I just kept waiting, 
putting it off, and hiding it still until you went away. 


124 


THE CUBAN HEIRESS. 


Then, thinking for sure I’d die soon, I kept on hiding the 
secret. No one had any care of the child but me. 

So she grew larger, and I dressed her in such clothes 
as little boys wear, and no one knew, and you stayed away. 
Every time any one looked at the child I expected them to 
guess. But they didn’t. 

So she kept on growing until she knew the truth, and 
then she loved me so, that for my sake she promised to keep 
the secret. But she found old dresses of her mother’s and 
grandmother’s, and would wear them now and then in spite 
of me. That’s where the ghost story came from. 

‘‘All this time she suffered dreadfully from shame and 
fear. But she loved me, and she swore never to expose me 
until some one found out for themselves. No one did until 
poor Mrs, North called for Harold to go with her. 

“ The moment she looked at him, she said : 

‘^‘You are a woman, a shameless woman Tn men’s 
clothes ! ’ and that made us sure of discovery. Oh, you’ve 
been looking for Harold ; you needn’t any more ; there he 
stands — that girl ! She has passed for your son for years ! 
And — oh, hush ; breath for one moment more — a little 
breath. I’d never have told you, but your son — is not 
dead. I’d stupefied the child — not killed it ! He is ” 

The old woman’s voice failed her, but her dying finger 
was lifted and pointed toward Richard. 

Mr. Shelbourne stood petrified with astonishment. 

“ Am I dreaming ?” he said. “ This cannot be true ! 

“It is ! ” said the doctor, solemnly. “ My loss is your 
gain. Richard is the child whom the watchman brought to 
the poorhouse, and who was then thought dead. And he 
is no longer my nephew, but your son.” 

He paused. 

The father looked at his handsome boy, and stood with 
eager eyes and outstretched hands, and opened his arms, 
and Richard rushed into them. 

While they stood in that long embrace, old Hepsibah 
breathed her last ; and the Cuban heiress gave her hand to 
Harvey Grier and glided from the room. 


THE CUBAN HEIRESS, 


125 


CHAPTER XXV. 

OLD HEPSIBAH’s FUNERAL. 

It was a lovely morning. The sun was high in the blue 
and cloudless sky, and the white stones, washed by the last 
night’s showers, stood spotless slabs of snow amidst the vel- 
vet turf of the green grave-yard. 

Around a grave, but newly dug, stood a group. My 
readers will recognize Mr. Shelbourne, Richard, and the 
doctor and Alfred Fairfield. Their faces were grave, their 
heads uncovered, for before them stood the bier on which 
reposed all that was mortal of old Hepsibah Drew. 

On the other side of the bier a white-haired clergyman 
had just prepared to utter the solemn burial-service, and 
farther in the distance stood the servants of The Pines,” 
and villagers, whom interest as well as curiosity had drawn 
to the spot. 

Suddenly, amidst the waiting silence, came a sound — the 
quick roll of carriage wheels, that paused at the grave-yard 
gates. 

All eyes were turned toward the spot. A barouche, 
drawn by milk-white horses, had drawn up in that solemn 
place, and from it a footman assisted two ladies to descend. 
One was Dolores, the other the old Cuban lady. 

They advanced slowly, the aged matron leaning on the 
girl’s arm. Both were dressed in black, heavy, lusterless 
silk, which swept in gloomy folds over the green turf they 
trod so reverently. 

In her hand the old woman bore something wrapped in 
white linen. 

Not a gem glittered on the maiden’s bosom, not a jewel 
on her finger. Dropping her great-grandmother’s arm, she 
knelt beside the bier. Tears fell from her dark eyes and 
trickled down her cheeks, and she pressed her lips upon the 
brow of the dead woman. 


THE CUBAN HEIRESS. 


1 26 

You loved me,” she whispered. Despite the wrong 
you did me, you loved me, and I loved you. I forgave 
you long ago ; and God and his angels have also forgiven 
you to-day. Farewell ! farewell ! ” and rising, she drew 
back behind the group, waving her hand as though to for- 
bid address or approach. 

Then the old Cuban lady advanced. Unfolding a ker- 
chief, she drew from its folds a cross and wreath of immor- 
telles^ and laid them upon the dead woman’s bosom. 

Thy religion was not mine,” she said, nor thy coun- 
try ; but thou wilt be none the worse for my prayers.” 

Then, bending low, she murmured some words in Span- 
ish, and looked down upon the frozen face. 

Dolores,” she said, and the girl was at her side in a 
moment. Dolores, she was good to thee.” 

They stood together then, and the service went on to its 
solemn end. 

When it was over, the crowd of strangers dispersed, the 
servants of ^‘The Pines” went home; Mr. Shelbourne 
walked slowly away with the doctor ; and in the grave- 
yard remained only the Cuban heiress, her great-grand- 
mother, Alfred Fairfield and Richard Shelbourne. 

The former hesitated, the latter approached boldly. 

We meet once more,” he said, softly. ^Wonder 
grave holds one who has done us both some wrong, who has 
woven much of sorrow into the web of our lives. You 
have forgiven her, and I say ^ amen.’ You are happy 
now?” 

‘^Very happy,” she murmured. ^^Yet I can scarcely 
look you in the face for shame. What a life mine has 
been ! ” 

Do you remain here? ” asked Richard. 

We shall live in New York,” said Dolores. My aged 
relative could not bear the fatigue of another journey, and, 
indeed, I do not desire to live in Cuba. In the great city 
where we shall reside no one will know our story. It would 
be different in Havana. Probably I shall never set foot 
upon its soil.” 

Richard’s eyes glistened. 

‘‘ You will not forbid me to visit you ? ” he said. 

Surely not, if you can forgive one who has acted al- 


THE CUBAN HEIRESS, 


127 


most as your enemy, who has stood between you and a 

father’s home and heart so long. An imposter — a ” 

Hush, hush ! ” said Richard. ‘‘ I am repaid for all 
if you admit me to your presence.” 

Then, remembering Alfred, he began : 

‘‘There’s another — my friend,” and turned toward the 
spot where he had a moment before been standing. He 
was not there. As they began to speak, he had offered his 
arm to the old Cuban lady, and was assisting her to enter 
her carriage. 

“I must join her,” said Dolores, and Richard walked 
beside her over the turf. It was but for a moment, but her 
hand was on his arm for the first time, and in all his life he 
never ceased to remember it. 

“Good-bye,” she said at parting. “ You know where 
to find us, and you will be welcome.” 

Richard bowed over her hand, touched the folds of her 
black dress as he drew them from contact with the wheel, 
and as the carriage rolled away stood bareheaded, with his 
bright eyes following the lady of his love. 

A sigh aroused him. Turning he saw Alfred Fairfield 
leaning against the paling, his cheek pale, his eyes down- 
cast, his brow knit gloomily. 

“ My friend, you are ill,” cried Richard. 

“ No, not ill.” 

“You have some grief, then, which I know nothing 
of.” 

“Yes, Richard, my heart is very sad, and you are the 
cause. ’ ’ 

“I!” 

“ You, Richard Shelbourne. You have not forgotten our 
vow ? ’ ’ 

“Forgotten that? Ah, never while I live can I forget 
it.” 

“ We vowed to serve her ; to deliver her from enemies 
and danger.” 

“ Aye, Alfred.” 

“ She needs no friend now. She is rich, happy, shielded 
from all danger. ’ ’ 

“ Thank Heaven ! ” 


128 


THE CUBAN HEIRESS. 


Thank Heaven, also say 1. And we also vowed that 
whatever befell us we would be brothers.’* 

Brother, we did.” 

^‘God bless you, Dick! And I have the strength to 
keep that vow. Yet the trial is greater than I feared. I 
will confess. On that day I believed that, if I chose, I 
might win this mysterious beauty, whom at first sight we 
both adored. I sought to bind your friendship to me, that 
I might have the woman I adored without losing my 
brother. I play a different part. It is mine to crush down 
all anger against a successful rival. I have done it, but, 
dear Dick, forgive me, not without a struggle.” 

Richard Shelbourne looked at him. 

‘‘A successful rival ? ” he said. Explain yourself.” 

Dolores loves you, Richard,” said Alfred. 

‘ ^ Loves me 1 ’ ’ 

Yes. I have seen it in her face, I have heard it in her 
voice. Who so keen as I to read that tale ? She loves 
you, Dick. God bless you both. You have but to woo 
and win her.” 

Are you sure — sure ? ” 

I could stake my existence on the fact.” 

Alfred, I am happier than a king. Oh, forgive me, 
my brother I How selfish I am ! Yet the joy, the bliss ! 
Dolores loves me ! It is too, too glorious ! ” 

Alfred smiled sadly. 

‘^Your joy is my balm,” he said. Do not think of 
me; I shall conquer my own heart. Good-bye, Dick. 
There is no fitter place to say farewell than this. ^ To-mor- 
row I shall leave my native land and for England.” 

For England ! And when will you return ? ” 

^'When I can frankly grasp the hand of Dolores as the 
wife of my dearest friend,” said Alfred. ‘^The time will 
come; do not fear. Until then farewell, and may Heaven 
speed your wooing.” 

He held out his hand, and Richard took it, and in the 
very act burst into tears, the first he had shed since the 
years of childhood. 

purchase my joy dearly,” he said, at the loss of 
my dear friend’s happiness. Farewell, farewell, Alfred. I 
shall always have a pang at my heart until I hear that you 


THE CUBAN HEIRESS. 1 29 

have loved and won some girl as fair and pure-hearted as 
Dolores.” 

So they parted, and the sun sank the next day upon a 
vessel far out upon the blue Atlantic, on whose decks Al- 
fred Fairfield stood, straining his to catch the last glimpse 
of his native land, the land he left that his vow might not 
be broken. 


HAPTER XXVI. 

A BETROTHAL. 

Perhaps, now that Hepsibah’s troubles were over ; that 
Mr. Shelbourne had found a son to be proud of, to love 
and to comfort his old age ; now that Dolores in her proper 
person had escaped the shame and terror of her life, and 
Richard, flushed with hope, felt certain of the fruition of 
his hopes, and the realization of his love dreams ; the only 
one save Alfred Fairfield who was not completely happy 
was the doctor. Despite his placid disposition, and de- 
spite the fact that he saw as much of Richard as he chose, 
that gentleman felt that he had been robbed. He could 
not but see that father and son adored each other. That to 
be together was their greatest happiness, and that Dick was 
“his Dick” no more. His brow grew clouded, and his 
step slow. He brooded and sulked ; and finally sold the 
cottage, and took board at the residence of a certain widow 
who, though certainly quite forty, was plump and pretty 
yet, and who afforded the comforts of a home to several 
single gentlemen. 

“ It was for Dick I lived,” said the doctor, “and now 
that he is taken from me I might as well end my days in a 
boarding house.” And the widow sympathized with him, 
and hinted with her head on one side, and tempting dim- 
ples m her rosy cheeks, that after all single gentlemen under 
her roof did not find quite such a dismal boarding house 
life as they might anticipate, poor things, from former ex- 
perience. 

At which the doctor only shook his head, as one who 

9 


THE CUBAN HEIRESS. 


130 

should say, “Behold a single gentleman who cannot be 
comforted.’* 

Yet, after all, he did not lose his appetite, and very soon 
grew sociable with the widow, and fatherly to her boy ; she 
had two, of ten and twelve. At first he sighed as he con- 
templated them, but bye and bye grew more cheerful, and 
one thing was noticeable, that so surely as there came 
into the village a circus or menagerie, or show of any sort, 
so surely first among the spectators were good old Doctor 
Rawdon and Mrs. Barrington’s boys. 

It’s my philoprogenitiveness, Dick,” said the doctor, 

‘‘ I adore pets and children. I have to have something of 
the sort about me. I ought to have married and have 
children about me. It’s too late now. Heigh oh, ah ! ” 
and the doctor would walk away, steadfastly refusing Rich- 
ard’s company, and acting the role of an injured man to 
the best of his ability. 

His demeanor puzzled both father and son, and made 
the latter now and then a little sad, for he loved the doctor 
dearly. But all the other subjects then were trivial to 
Richard Rawdon beside the love he bore for Dolores, and 
the hope he entertained of her return of that emotion. 

Often as he could leave the Pines, he betook himself to 
the city, and there, at her magnificent home, saw Dolores. 
She was kind to him. She smiled on him, and he believed 
her heart was his ^ but the words which would have proved 
that belief true were very hard to speak. 

True love is always doubtful of its own power. Scarcely 
could Richard believe that his merits were sufficient to win 
Dolores’s heart. 

At last he nerved himself to the point. And leaving the 
Pines one glorious summer morning, he found her seated 
at her piano in her pretty boudoir. She looked lovelier 
than ever. Her eyes were liquid, her dark tresses more 
glossy. She smiled as he entered and held out. her hand. 

Welcome, Richard,” she said. What could tempt 
you from the green solitude of the Pines to the dusty, noisy 
city on such a day ? ” . 

The thoughts in Richard’s heart rushed to his lips as she 

spoke. 

“ Where you are is Heaven,” he said. “You draw me 


THE CUBAN HEIRESS. 


131 

to you as the magnet draws the needle. Nay, do not turn 
away,” he continued, '' I must speak at last. Dolores,! 
adore you. I cannot live without you. From that moment 
when you dawned upon me a beauteous mystery, I have felt 
that you alone could fill my heart. That heart is at your 
feet. Share my life. Be mine, my own forever, Do- 
lores ! ” 

The beautiful creature made no answer. Her black 
lashes veiled her oriental eyes. Her color came and went. 
Her bosom heaved beneath the snowy lawn which veiled it. 
Richard looked upon her ; drew nearer, and gently took 
her hand. She did not resist. Then he grew bolder. His 
arm stole around her waist, and he lifted the taper fingers 
to his lips. 

Dolores,” he whispered, do you love me ? ” 

And from the girl’s lips came a scarcely audible whis- 
per. 

‘‘Yes.” Only “yes”; nothing more. Yet of all the 
essays on love, of all the long loved poems, none were ever 
more eloquent than that monosyllable “ yes.” 

Oh, the exquisite moment, when her head drooped upon 
his bosom ; when for the first time his lips touched her 
cheek. A wild wish crept in both hearts that time might 
stop there, and leave them standing thus forever. 

Dolores was the first to speak. She drew herself timidly 
from her lover’s arras, and looked into his ardent face with 
something like self-reproach in her own. 

“Richard,” she said, “ I must not be selfish, neither 
must you. I owe a duty to my mother’s aged grand- 
mother. I can never leave her. While she lives I must be 
altogether hers. I love her, Richard, and she loves me. 
Nothing shall part us, no one shall divide my time and care 
while she exists. Think how old she is, and what sorrow 
she has known.” 

She paused suddenly, and both turned with a start, for 
an odd laugh burst upon their ears. 

From a door behind them tottered forth the old Cuban 
lady, leaning on a gold headed cane. 

“Dolores!” she cried. “Ah, Dolores, this is some- 
thing new. And you never told me you had a lover. Nay, 
do not blush, I guessed it, and what is more I like this boy. 


132 


THE CUBAN HEIRESS, 


He is handsome and good, better than the other one. Ah, 
I am shrewd, I know them at a glance. I had fifty when I 
was young and beautiful. Listen, you two. You shall not 
wait for your merry-making until I am gone. I want to see 
my great-grandchild’s wedding. It is what few do. I am 
nearly a century old. Come, you shall marry, and I will 
bless you, and dwell with you. What say you? ” 

For all answer, both knelt and kissed her hands. 

She liked the homage, and over her old face passed a 
smile. 

‘‘ Good children,” she said. Ah, you will be happy ; 
you venerate the old. Now, go away and talk. I want to 
think. This will be grand pastime to me — -Dolores’s wed- 
ding.” 

Hand in hand the lovers left the room. And we shall 
not follow them. Did you want an eavesdropper during 
your courting-day, fair reader ? 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

THE father’s blessing. 

It was not strange, perhaps, that Mr. Shelbourne should 
entertain a strong prejudice against the girl who had, in 
the character -of Harold Shelbourne, occupied so singular a 
position beneath his roof ; but Richard, blinded by his own 
love, was quite unprepared for it, and astonished by the 
grief and anger which an exposition of his betrothal to Do- 
lores excited in his father’s breast. For the first time he 
heard the real expression of Mr. Shelbourne’ s feelings, and 
grew pale with suppressed anger as he listened. 

I have forgiven Hepsibah,” said Mr. Shelbourne. I 
consider her conduct to have been that of a mad woman. 
Insanity excuses her ; and against the dead I cherish no an- 
imosity. But this girl, who dwelt under my roof an impos- 
tor for so many years, who stood between my son and his 
inheritance, how can I welcome her as a daughter ? My 
dear son, it is impossible ; and unless some glamour has 
been cast about you, I cannot see how you can see aught to 


THE CUBAN HEIRESS. 


133 


admire in an adventurer. In one who disgraced herself 
and dishonored her sex by the masculine attire she wore be- 
fore us all ; who took part in a deception at once vile and 
absurd ; and was so consummate an actress as to avoid de- 
tection, which, looking back, would seem to have been in- 
evitable. I cannot respect such a woman ; is it possible 
you can love her ? ” 

Vainly Richard plead the cause of his Dolores. Mr. 
ShelboLirne’s opinions were not easily altered. He thought 
of the puny Harold, whose want of beauty and of wit were 
so apparent ; and could not fancy him transfoimed to a 
woman worthy of this bright and handsome boy of his. 

At last Richard put one question which was answered to 
his S9.tisf3-Ctl00 

“ Do you know Dolores, father ? Have you observed her 
carefully ? Are you not speaking of one you scarcely would 
recognize were you to meet? ” 

In her disguise I could scarcely forget her,” said Mr. 
Shelbourne. As a woman, if she is much altered, I 
probably should not know her. We have met beside a 
death-bed and a grave, and I forbade my eyes turning to- 
ward her, lest indignation should usurp the place forgive- 
ness should fill alone. Hepsibah Drew and her accomplice 
did us both great wrong.” 

Richard drew a breath of relief. 

‘‘You do not know her,” he said ; and when you do 
you will forgive her. She is an angel ! No selfish motive 
mingled with her deception ; only her love for her old nurse 
caused her to remain one hour beneath this roof after your 

return.” ^ -i i >> 

“ Perhaps she may not have been as guilty as Hepsibah, 
said Mr. Shelbourne, “yet she was culpable and absurdly 
weak. I can never give my consent to such an alliance.” 

And Richard turned away, sad at heart, and left his 
father’s presence. Outside the door he met the doctor and 
the two Barrington boys. The former, as usual, gave a lit- 
tle sigh and shook his head, but Richard followed him. 

“ Uncle,” said he, “ let those boys go somewhere and 
play ; I want your advice.” 

“ I am not your uncle, you know, Dick,” said the doc- 
tor ; “and, as for advice, there’s your father, you know.” 


^34 


THE CUBAN HEIRESS. 


need you,” said Richard. Don’t punish me for 
what I could not help.” 

** That’s true,” said the doctor. You couldn’t help it. 
It’s that confounded Hepsibah’s fault. Come along, Dick. 
Boys, wait here, and behave yourselves,” and he took the 
young man’s arm and walked away. 

Richard poured his story into his attentive ear, and by 
way of comment the doctor muttered : 

‘ ‘ Ah ! a real father is no kinder than an adopted uncle 
after all ! ” 

The thought pleased him, and in a few moments he sug- 
gested : 

I tell you what, Dick, this matter is a difficult one ; 
your father is obstinate and takes airs ; excuse me. A wo- 
man only can contrive to manage him ; and as the smartest 
woman in the world is my landlady, Mrs. Barrington, we’ll 
appeal to her. Fact, Dick, she is the smartest ! The way 
she manages all sort of cheating tradesmen is wonderful ! ’ ’ 

The result of this resolution can be put in a few words. 
A week thereafter two ladies came to board with the widow 
Barrington, One extremely old, who kept her room for the 
best part of the time. The other, lovely, young and fas- 
cinating. By female art and machinations Mr. Shelbourne 
was inveigled into taking tea at the Barrington cottage, and 
meeting the young lady admired her intensely, and pitched 
upon her as the very wife for Richard. This consummation 
being arrived at, confessions were made, and Mr. Shel- 
bourne learned that the beautiful Miss Wilford was the Cu- 
ban Heiress, of whom he entertained so great a horror, and 
the puny Harold, whose very memory had been a nightmare 
to him since that individual had vanished from existence. 

There was a struggle in his mind between prejudice and 
conviction, but the end was favorable to the lovers’ hopes, 
and finally he gave consent and blessing to a union which 
Dolores had declared should never be consummated against 
his will. 

It was a work of time, and days had rolled into weeks, 
and weeks to months, before the happy moment arrived, 
so that a year had passed before Dolores put her hand in 
that of Richard, and said : 

I can be yours now. Your father has blessed us.” 


THE CUBAH heiress. 


135 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

A WEDDING, AND OTHER THINGS. 

It was a lovely August day. Never had The Pines looked 
so lovely. The tall trees from which it took its name were 
green and glossy, and the fragrant perfume from their 
Itately stems diffused itself upon the air. In the garden a 
thousand blossoms vied with each other in loveliness, and 
the lawn was one expanse of velvet smoothness, while 
within every room was newly furnished and adorned. 

It had been Mr. Shelbourne’s desire that the wedding 
party should come at once to “ The Pines ” after the per- 
formance of the ceremony, and such a banquet was pre- 
pared as had not graced the old dining-room for years. 
Black Deb was in her agony, and marshaled her assistants 
with a dignity and empressment only possible to a colored 
female who occupies the position of cook in a respectable 

family. , 

In the distance the church spire glistened in the noon- 
day sun, and within the church flowers from “The Pines ” 
were arranged in festoons and bouquets. Everything was 
bright and fresh, and the sexton felt prouder of the arrange- 
ments than the famous Brown of Grace Church could feel 
at the celebration of ten thousand diamond weddings. 

The clergyman was ready. The spectators had assem- 
bled. Nothing remained but the arrival of the wedding 
party, and the consummation of the lovers’ happiness, when 
suddenly a -small boy rushed into the church and put a note 

into the sexton’s hand. , . , , » , j 1 

Curiosity was on tip-toe. What could it be . An elderly 
lady escaped from the crowd and caught and questioned 
the lad. She discovered that the note was from Mr. Shel- 
bourne. 

Meanwhile the clergyman received and read it. He did 
not rise and say that there would be no wedding ; on the 


136 


THE CUBAN HEIRESS. 


contrary, he smiled. He looked as though but for his posi- 
tion in society he would have liked to laugh. 

The congregation were miserable. What could it be ? 

To gratify our readers, we will inform them that the note 
intimated to the clergyman that he would be expected to 
unite two couples instead of one. 

Still the spectators waited. The rising breeze fluttered 
the^ rose branches at the window ; the organist played the 

Wedding March ; ” ribbons stirred, muslins and silks 
rustled. The clergyman, who was young and sentimental, 
read his prayer-book and looked in his fresh white surplice 
as though he were about to be married himself. 

Suddenly there was a noise ; the church gate opened ; 
every one stared door ward. The clergyman, from his 
bower of roses, looked congratulatory blessings with his 
big blue eyes. 

A disappointment awaited them. Instead of the bride, 
in white silk and orange blossoms, entered black Deb, in a 
very red dress, a very green handkerchief, a white apron, 
and clumping shoes, followed by her satellites, who were 
to occupy the squire’s pew, and ^^see Massa Richard 
married.” 

Some young people tittered; and a profane youth sug- 
gested that this was the bride, and that the Shelbournes 
had turned Abolitionists, which caused a weak-minded 
titter along the aisle. 

Shortly after, when Deb and her party were comfortably 
seated, another false alarm was raised. A carriage stopped ; 
somebody sailed in. This time it was Miss Betsy Dash, a 
wealthy spinster, who always went to weddings, and who 
entering, so established herself with a view to the exhibi- 
tion of her new bonnet, that the sexton felt called upon 
to interfere, and did his task jocularly and politely by say- 
ing : ^ ^ 

‘^Really ma’am, excuse me, but if you sit there our 
pastor will be obliged to marry you to somebody ; indeed 
he will. This place is for the bridal party. Of course 
somebody would be happy to have you remain, but you 
have your choice.” 

At which Miss Dash giggled and retreated. 

At last there was really a sound of whirling wheels and 


THE CEB AH HEIRESS. 


137 


horses’ hoofs, and of boys cheering along the road, and the 
doors opened wide. Enter the party. Firstly, a brides- 
maid and groomsman ; behind them, Richard and Dolores. 

Oh, how beautiful she was ! how the girls envied her, 
and the young men the bridegroom ! 

Then a little pause, and, behold, another bridesmaid 
and groomsman ! After them. Dr. Rawdon and Mrs. Bar- 
rington, the latter pretty and blooming, despite her forty 
years, in silver-grey silk and white lace; the former beam- 
ing with smiles, and actually blushing. 

The rest of the party followed in due course. 

And then came the ceremony. The sentimental clergy- 
man, with big eyes, doing his part to admiration, and 
uttering the musical name, Dolores, with its true Spanish 
accent. And when it came to the doctor’s turn, saying, 

“ Wilt thou, Oliver, take this woman,” with an air which 
seemed to say, “Remember, this is the last chance ! ’’ and 
propounding to Mrs. Barrington the query, “ Wilt thou, 
Jane Elizabeth?” As who should say, “Come, now, it 
you have any objections state them, or keep them to your- 
self forever ! ” and requesting any of the congregation 
who knew any cause why the nuptials should not be solemn- 
ized to state their objections, as if he really expected some 
one to step from the crowd and interfere. 

Of course no one did ; and the double marriage was 
consummated without a shadow to mar its bliss, either on 
the faces within the church or in the sky without. 

When it vvas over, the bridal party proceeded doorward, 
and on the porch encountered a young gentleman, with a 

lady on his arm. , t.- 1 a> 

The former stepped forward, and grasped Richard s 

“Let me be the first to congratulate you,” he said. 
“God bless you, Dick; may you be as happy with your 
wife as I am with mine. Sophy, this is my dearest friend. 

And Richard Shelboiirne stood face to face with Alfred 

Fairfield. , «• j 

“ I have been married a month,” he said, as he ottered 
his hand to Dolores. “ My wife is an English girl, a 
stranger here ; but I have often spoken of you both, and 
she feels that she knows you.” 


138 


THE CUBAN HEIRESS. 


Then the lips of the bride of an hour and the wife of a 
month met sisterlike, and all walked on together to par- 
take of the wedding breakfast at The Pines/* 

It was a merry time, and the pioneer of many happy 
years ; and those who dwell at Carltonville can tell you 
that three happier couples never were united in their old 
church. 

Richard and Dolores dwelt at The Pines ** with Mr. 
Shelbourne ; and the old Cuban lady made her home there 
until she went to sleep one day to awaken in the next world. 

Not far away Alfred Fairfield and his Sophy had their 
home, and were the fondest of married mortals. While in 
his cottage ornee^ Dr. Rawdon dwelt, entertaining the be- 
lief that, although Dick*s Dolores and Alfred's Sophy were 
nice girls, his buxom and blooming Jane Elizabeth was as 
far superior to them as she was to all other women, and 
that her boys were cherubs in round jackets. 

As for Harvey Grier, of course the management of that 
great Cuban estate devolved on him; and as the old lady's 
will rendered him independent of his business, he attended 
to it as a sort of pastime in the legal line. 

While Master Tom Burridge came into a comfortable 
business by right of inheritance, and reigns in the office 
where he once played lawyer and smoked cigar ends. . 

Old Deb, the only retainer of ‘^The Pines " who could 
remember the strange scene enacted beneath its roof, dwelt 
there until the children of Massa Dick were old enough to 
toddle, and then expired, bequeathing them her savings, 
hidden for thirty years in an old flower pot, under the 
kitchen hearth ; and, to our certain knowledge, no mortal 
has reason to regret the hour which made the Cuban heir- 
ess-mistress of The Pines." 


/ 


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7. The Lady Mary. By Mrs. 

Ann S. Stephens. 

8. Isora’s Bridal Vow. By 

Margaret Blount. 

9. Ivan the Serf. By Sylvanus 

Cobb, Jr. 

10. The Wizard of Granada. 
By M. T. Caldor. 


NO. 

1 1 . Ralph Raymond’s Heir. By 

Horatio Alger, Jr. 

12. The Fatal Glove. By Clara 

Augusta. 

13. The Heir of Glenville. By 

Francis A. Durivage. 

14. A Brave Little AVoman. By 

Mrs. Mary A. Denison. 

15- Blackbird Hill. -By Esther 
Serle Kenneth. 

16. Thornycroft Grange. By 

Rett Winwood. 

17. The Queen’s Revenge. By 

Sylvanus Cobb, Jr. 

18. The Mill -Girl of Tyrol. By 

M. T. Caldor. 

19. David Hunt. By Mrs. Ann 

S. Stephens. 

20. It Never Did Run Smooth. 

By Mrs. Jane G. Austin. 


01^ Any of the above books will be sent by mail, postpaid, 
upon receipt of price, TEN CENTS each. Address 

THE F. M. LUPTON PUBLIJSHING COMPANY. 


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THE E LITE S ERIES. 

Comprising the best standard works of fiction. Each work in 
this series is printed from large type on good paper, and uniformly 
bound in attractive paper covers. 


NO. 

1. Lorna Doone. By R. D. 

Blackmore. 

2. East Lynne. By Mrs. 

Henry Wood, 

8. The Woman in White. By 
Wilkie Collins. 

4. Romola. By George Eliot. 

5. The Man in the Iron Mask. 

By Alexander Dumas. 

6. A False Start. By Hawley 

Smart. 

7. Donovan. ByEdnaLyall. 

8. Dawn. By H. Rider Hag- 

gard. 

9. Louise de la Vallerie. By 

Alexander Dumas. 

10. Under Two Flags. By 

Ouida. 

11. Wooed and Married. By 

Rosa Nouchette Carey. 

12. The Master ol* the Cere- 

monies. By George Man- 
ville Fenn. 

13. The Struggle for Life. By 

Albert Delpit. 

14. The Last Days of Pompeii. 

By Sir E. Bulwer-Lyt- 
ton. 

15. Lover or Friend ? By Rosa 

Nouchette Carey. 

16. The Deerslayer. By J. 

Fen i more Cooper. 

17. The Vicomte de Brage- 

lonne. By Alexander 
Dumas. 

18. Uncle ^lax. By Rosa 

Nouchette Carey. 

19. AVe Two. By Edna 

Ly?ill. 


NO. 

20. The Nun’s Curse. By Mrs. 

J. H. Riddell. 

21. Not Like Other Girls. By 

Rosa Nouchette Carey. 

22. Jane Eyre. By Charlotte 

Bronte. 

23. Heriot’s Choice. By Rosa 
■ Nouchette Carey. 

24. Dick’s Wandering. By 

Julian Sturgis. 

25. John Halifax, Gentleman. 

By Miss Mulock, 

26. Double Cunning. B y 

George Manville Fenn, 

27. Rory O’ More. By Samuel 

Lover. 

28. The Frozen Pirate, By 

W. Clark Russell. 

29. The Mysteries of Paris. 

By Eugene Sue. 

80. Only the Governess. By 
Rosa Nouchette Carey. 

31. Twenty Years After. By 

Alexander Dumas. 

32. The Pioneers. By J. Fen- 

imore Cooper. 

33. Handy xAndy. By Samuel 

Lover. 

34. A Woman’s Face. By 

Florence Warden. 

35. In the Golden Days. By 

Edna Lyall. 

36. The Pathfinder. By J. 

Fenimore Cooper. 

37. Deldee, the Ward of War 

ringham. By Florence 
Warden. 

38. Robinson Crusoe. By 

Daniel Defoe. 


C^Any of the above books will be sent by mail, post paid, upon 
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THE BIJOU SERIES. 


Comprising the most popula,r works of the most celebrated authors. Each 
work in this series is printed from large type on good paper, and uniformly 


bound in attractive paper covers. 

No. 

1. The Old Mam’selle’s Secret. By 
E. Marlitt. 

3. Blind Fate. By Mrs. Alexander. 
S. A Vagrant Wife. By Florence 

Warden. 

4. Peg Woffington. By Charles 

Reade. 

.5. Ruffino. By Ouida. 

G Love’s Atonement. By Th. Bent- 
zon. 

7. A Little Rebel. By “The 

Duchess.” 

8. Merle’s Crusade. By Rosa Nou- 

chette Carey. 

9. I Have Lived and Loved. By 

Mrs. Forrester. 

10. Jet : Her Face or Her Fortune. 

By Mrs. Annie Edwards. 

11. The House on the Marsh. By 

Florence Warden. 

12. For Maimie's Sake. By Grant 

Alien. 

13. The Essays of Elia. By Charles 

Lamb. 

14. Christie Johnstone. By Charles 

1 ^ 00 / ( 3.0 

15. Ladies’ Fancy Work. 

16. Wife in Name Only. By Charlotte 

M. Braeme. 

17. Through Green Glasses. By F. 

M. Allen. 

18. The Story of an African Farm. 

By Ralph Iron. 

19. She : A History of Adventure. 

By H. Rider Haggard. 

20. Mr. Fortescue. By William West- 

ail. 

21. King Solomon’s Mines. By H. 

Rider Haggard. 

32. Essays. First Series. By Ralph 
Waldo Emerson. 

23. Camille. By Alexandre Dumas, 

Fils. 

24. Beyond the End. By Clarence M. 

Boil telle. 

35. The Modern Home Cook Book. 

26. The Last Essays of Elia. By 

Charles Lamb. 

27. The Shadow of a Sin. By Char- 

lotte M. Braeme. 

28. The Secret of Her Life. By 

Edward Jenkins. 


No. ' ' 

29. A Rogue’s Life. By Wilkie Col- 

lins. 

30. The Other Man’s Wife. By John 

Strange Winter. 

31. The Master of the Mine. By 

Robert Buchanan. 

32. Dear Life. By J. E. Panton. 

33. Lord Lisle's Daughter. By Char- 

lotte M. Braeme. 

34. The Dark House. By George 

Manville Fenn. 

35. Essays. Second Series. By Ralph 

Waldo Emerson. 

36. Doris’s Fortune. By Florence 

Warden. 

37. The Bag of Diamonds. By George 

Manville Fenn. 

38. Addie's Husband. By the author 

of “ Jessie.” 

39. The Tour of the World in Eighty 

Days. By Jules Verne. 

40. Struck Down. By Hawley Smart. 

41. The Rabbi’s Spell. By Stuart C. 

Cumbeidand. 

42. A Nemesis. By J. Maclaren Cob 

ban. 

43. The Mystery of Mrs. Blencarrow. 

By Mrs. Oliphant. 

44. Master Rockafellar’s Voyage. By 

W. Clark Russell. 

45. The Great Hesper. By Frank 

Barrett. 

46. The Frontiersmen. By Gustave 

Ajmard. 

47. At the World’s Mercy. By Flor- 

ence Warden. 

48. The Yellow Mask. By Wilkie 

Collins. 

49. Three Men in a Boat. By Jerome 

K. Jerome. 

50. Matt : A Tale of a Caravan. By 

Robert Buchanan. 

51. Lily Lass. By Justin McCarthy, 

M.P. 

53. A Little Irish Girl. By “The 
Duchesi.” 

53. Forging the Fetters. By Mrs. 

^ 0(3 01 * 

54. What Gold Caiffiot Buy. By Mrs. 

Alexander. 

55. A Marriage at Sea. ByW. Clark 

Russell. 


gJ^?^Any of the above books will be sent by mail, postpaid, upon receipt of 
price, TWENTY-FIVE CENTS each. Address 


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